THE  DARK  STAR 


Novels  By  Robert  W.  Chambers 

The  Girl  Philippa 

Police ! ! ! 

The  Business  of  Life 

The  Gay  Rebellion 

The  Streets  of  Ascalon 

The  Common  Law 

Ailsa  Paige 

The  Green  Mouse 

lole 

The  Reckoning 

The  Maid -at- Arms 

Cardigan 

The  Haunts  of  Men 

The  Mystery  of  Choice 

The  Cambric  Mask 

The  Maker  of  Moons 

The  King  in  Yellow 

In  Search  of  the 

Unknown 
The  Conspirators 
A  King  and  a  Few 

Dukes 

In  the  Quarter 
Ashes  of  Empire 
The  Red  Republic 
Outsiders 


The  Dark  Star 

The  Better  Man 

Athalie 

Who  Goes  There! 

Anne's  Bridge 

Between  Friends 

The  Hidden  Children 

Quick  Action 

Blue-Bird  Weather 

Japonette 

The  Adventures  of 

a  Modest  Man 
The  Danger  Mark 
Special  Messenger 
The  Firing  Line 
The  Younger  Set 
The  Fighting  Chance 
Some  Ladies  in  Haste 
The  Tree  of  Heaven 
The  Tracer  of  Lost 

Persons 
A  Young  Man  in  a 

Hurry 
Lorraine 
Maids  of  Paradise 


My  davling  'Rue— my  little  Rue  Carew- 


The 

DARK    STAR 


BY 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
W.  D.  STEVENS 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BT 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


COPTBIGHT,  1916,  1917,  BT  THE  INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  CoMFASTY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO    MY    FRIEND 

EDGAR    SISSON 


912318 


A 


Dans  c'metier-la,  faut 

rien  chercher  a  comprendre. 

RENE  BENJAMIN 


ALAK'S  SONG 

Where  are  you  going, 

Naia  ? 

Through  the  still  noon — 
Where  are  you  going? 

To  hear  the  thunder  of  the  sea 
And  the  wind  blowing! — 
To  find  a  stormy  moon  to  comfort  me 
Across  the  dune ! 


Why  are  you  weeping, 

Naia? 

Through  the  still  noon — 
Why  are  you  weeping? 

Because  I  found  no  wind,  no  sea, 
No  white  surf  leaping, 
Nor  any  flying  moon  to  comfort  me 
Upon  the  dune. 

What  did  you  see  there, 

Na'ia  ? 

In  the  still  noon — 
What  did  you  see  there? 

Only  the  parched  world  drowsed  in  drought, 
And  a  fat  bee,  there, 

Prying  and  probing  at  a  poppy's  mouth 
That  drooped  a-swoon. 
vii 


ALAK'S  SONG 


What  did  you  hear  there, 

Naia  ? 

In  the  still  noon — 
What  did  you  hear  there? 

Only  a   kestrel's   lonely  cry 
From  the  wood  near  there — 
A  rustle  in  the  wheat  as  I  passed  by 
A  cricket's  rune. 


Who  led  you  homeward, 

Nai'a  ? 

Through  the  still  noon — 
Who  led  you  homeward? 

My  soul  within  me  sought  the  sea, 
Leading  me  foam-ward: 

But  the  lost  moon's  ghost  returned  with  me 
Through  the  high  noon. 


Where  is  your  soul  then, 

Naia? 

Lost  at  high  noon — 
Where  is  your  soul  then? 

It  wanders   East — or   West — I    think — 

Or  near  the  Pole,  then — 

Or   died — perhaps   there  on   the   dune's   dry 

brink 

Seeking  the  moon, 
viii 


THE  DARK  STAR 

"The  dying  star  grew  dark;  the  last  light  faded  from  it; 
went  out.  Prince  Erlik  laughed. 

"And  suddenly  the  old  order  of  things  began  to  pass 
away  more  swiftly. 

"Between  earth  and  outer  space — between  Creator  and 
created,  confusing  and  confounding  their  identities, — a  rush 
ing  darkness  grew — the  hurrying  wrack  of  immemorial 
storms  heralding  whirlwinds  through  which  Truth  alone 
survives. 

"Awaiting  the  inevitable  reestablishment  of  such  tem 
porary  conventions  as  render  the  incident  of  human  exist 
ence  possible,  the  brooding  Demon  which  men  call  Truth 
stares  steadily  at  Tengri  under  the  high  stars  which  are 
passing  too,  and  which  at  last  shall  pass  away  and  leave 
the  Demon  watching  all  alone  amid  the  ruins  of  eternity." 
THE  PROPHET  OF  THE  KIOT  BORDJIGUEN 


CONTENTS 

PREFACE.     CHILDREN  OF  THE  STAR 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I.  THE    WONDER-BOX      .  ... 

II.  BROOKHOLLOW    ......       18 

III.  IN  EMBRYO         ....  .30 

IV.  THE  TRODDEN  WAY 38 

V.  Ex   MACHINA     .         .         .         .         .         .47 

VI.  THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE       ....       60 

VII.  OBSESSION 71 

VIII.  A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 80 

IX.  NONRESISTANCE    ......          88 

X.  DRIVING  HEAD-ON 102 

XI.  THE  BREAKERS .112 

XII.  A  LIFE  LINE 122 

XIII.  LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL  .         .         .137 

XIV.  A  JOURNEY  BEGINS 157 

XV.  THE  LOCKED  HOUSE  .         .         .         .         .162 

XVI.  SCHEHERAZADE 180 

XVII.  A  WHITE  SKIRT 193 

XVIII.  BY  RADIO 202 

xi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XIX.  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  VOLHYNIA     . 

XX.  THE   DROP   OF   IRISH 

XXI.  METHOD  AND  FORESIGHT  . 

XXII.  Two   THIRTEEN        . 

XXIII.  ON  His  WAY 

XXIV.  THE   ROAD   TO   PARIS 

XXV.     CUP  AND  LIP 

XXVI.  RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR     .... 

XXVII.  FROM   FOUR  TO  FIVE 

XXVIII.     TOGETHER 

XXIX.  EN    FAMILLE   ..... 

XXX.  JARDIN  RUSSE           .... 

XXXI.  THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS  . 

XXXII.  THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

1  XXXIII.     A  RAT  HUNT 

XXXIV.  SUNRISE   ...... 

XXXV.  THE  FIRST  DAY 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"My  darling  Rue — my  little  Rue  Carew —       '   Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


For  a  little  while  the  child  played  her  usual  game  of 

frightening  her  doll  with  the  Yellow  Devil          .          4 

"A  strange  and  tragic   affair  last  night"  8 

"This    is    what   is   written:    'I    am    Erlik,    Ruler    of 

Chaos   and   of   All   that   Was"3          ...        36 

Rue  cast  line  and  hook  and  minnow  far  out  into  the 

pond  ........        52 

"Jim    Neeland !"    she    exclaimed    impulsively.      " — I 

mean    Mr.    Neeland"          .          .          .          .          .108 

"For  heaven's  sake!"  he  said.     "What  on  earth "      120 

"Ruhannah,"  he  said,  "are  you  calm  enough  to  let  me 

tell  you  what  I  think  about  this  matter?"          .      124 

"Good-bye,  Rue/'  he  said,  offering  his  hand       .          .134 

"Mon    cher   ami,    I    was    silly    enough   to   hope   you 

might    write    to    me"          .          .          .          .          .142 

Full  in  the  glare,  her  face  as  white  as  the  light  itself, 

stood    a    woman          .          .          .          .          .          .164 

The  girl  rose  in  her  seat,  and  flung  the  lighted  ciga 
rette  high  into  the  air          .          .          .          .          .174 

He  drove  his  fist  into  the  face  of  his  other  assailant  188 
The  girl  appeared  to  be  asleep  .  .  .  .190 
The  curtain  was  twitched  noiselessly  aside  .  .  204 

"Quick!"   breathed   the   nurse.    "Throw   him   on   his 

bed!" 206 

xiii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"There  is  only  one  more  thing  that  could  make  it 

perfectly  impossible.     And  I'm  going  to  do  it!"  214 

"Karl!"  exclaimed  Use  Dumont          ....  236 

"Shoot  him   dead  if  he   stirs !"....  240 

With   a   gasp   she   stretched   out   her   arm   and   fired 

straight   at   the   clock          .....  248 

"Now  do  you  believe  that  I  can  shoot?"  she  called 

out 250 

All    three   men    glanced    stealthily    at    Neeland          .  268 

"Trouble?      I   had   the   time   of   my   life"          .          .  282 

The  butler  reeled  to  his  feet  and  was  lurching  for 
ward  to  seize  the  steering  wheel          .          .          .  288 

"Dear/'   she   said,    "I   want   James    Neeland   to   hear 

this,  too.     For  it  is  partly  a  confession "          .  298 

"Your  work  is — stunning !"  he  said  bluntly          .          .  322 

"I  ought  to  know,"  she  said;  "/  also  have  listened"  326 

The  snowy  symmetry  of  neck  and  arms  was  delicately 

accented  by  the  filmy  black  of  her  gown          .  330 

Two  men  .  .  .  rose  and  strolled  after  them          .          .  334 

Down    the    stairs    they    crept,    straight    toward    the 

frightful   tumult 384 

"That  woman  is  a  German  spy !  A  spy !"  he  screamed  388 

Use  Dumont  looked  up  to  meet  her  doom  in  the  steady 

gaze  of  the  Princess  Nai'a  Mistchenka         .  402 


THE  DARK  STAR 


THE  DARK  STAR 

PREFACE 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  STAR 

NOT  the  dark  companion  of  Sirius,  brightest  of  all 
stars — not  our  own  chill  and  spectral  planet  rushing 
toward  Vega  in  the  constellation  of  Lyra — presided  at 
the  birth  of  millions  born  to  corroborate  a  bloody 
horoscope. 

But  a  Dark  Star,  speeding  unseen  through  space, 
known  to  the  ancients,  by  them  called  Erlik,  after  the 
Prince  of  Darkness,  ruled  at  the  birth  of  those  myriad 
souls  destined  to  be  engulfed  in  the  earthquake  of  the 
ages,  or  flung  by  it  out  of  the  ordered  pathway  of  their 
lives  into  strange  byways,  stranger  highways — into 
deeps  and  deserts  never  dreamed  of. 

Also  one  of  the  dozen  odd  temporary  stars  on  record 
blazed  up  on  that  day,  flared  for  a  month  or  two,  dwin 
dled  to  a  cinder,  and  went  out. 

But  the  Dark  Star  Erlik,  terribly  immortal,  sped  on 
through  space  to  complete  a  two-hundred-thousand- 
year  circuit  of  the  heavens,  and  begin  anew  an  imme 
morial  journey  by  the  will  of  the  Most  High. 

What  spectroscope  is  to  horoscope,  destiny  is  to 
chance.  The  black  star  Erlik  rushed  through  inter 
stellar  darkness  unseen;  those  born  under  its  violent 
augury  squalled  in  their  cradles,  or,  thumb  in  mouth, 
slumbered  the  dreamless  slumber  of  the  newly  born. 

xvii 


THE  DARK  STAR 


One  of  these,  p.  tiiiy  girl  baby,  fussed  and  fidgeted  in 
her  mother's  arms,  tortured  by  prickly  heat  when  the 
hot  wiiids  blew  through  Trebizond. 

Overhead  vultures  circled;  a  stein-adler,  cleaving  the 
blue,  looked  down  where  the  surf  made  a  thin  white 
line  along  the  coast,  then  set  his  lofty  course  for 
China. 

Thousands  of  miles  to  the  westward,  a  little  boy  of 
eight  gazed  out  across  the  ruffled  waters  of  the  mill 
pond  at  Neeland's  Mills,  and  wondered  whether  the 
ocean  might  not  look  that  way. 

And,  wondering,  with  the  salt  sea  effervescence  work 
ing  in  his  inland-born  body,  he  fitted  a  cork  to  his  fish 
ing  line  and  flung  the  baited  hook  far  out  across  the 
ripples.  Then  he  seated  himself  on  the  parapet  of  the 
stone  bridge  and  waited  for  monsters  of  the  deep  to 
come. 

And  again,  off  Seraglio  Point,  men  were  rowing  in  a 
boat;  and  a  corded  sack  lay  in  the  stern,  horridly  and 
limply  heavy. 

There  was  also  a  box  lying  in  the  boat,  oddly  bound 
and  clamped  with  metal  which  glistened  like  silver  under 
the  Eastern  stars  when  the  waves  of  the  Bosporus 
dashed  high,  and  the  flying  scud  rained  down  on  box 
and  sack  and  the  red-capped  rowers. 

In  Petrograd  a  little  girl  of  twelve  was  learning  to 
eat  other  things  than  sour  milk  and  cheese ;  learning  to 
ride  otherwise  than  like  a  demon  on  a  Cossack  saddle; 
learning  deportment,  too,  and  languages,  and  social 
graces  and  the  fine  arts.  And,  most  thoroughly  of  all, 
the  little  girl  was  learning  how  deathless  should  be  her 
hatred  for  the  Turkish  Empire  and  all  its  works;  and 

xviii 


PREFACE 


how  only  less  perfect  than  our  Lord  in  Paradise  was 
the  Czar  on  his  throne  amid  that  earthly  paradise 
known  as  "All  the  Russias." 

Her  little  brother  was  learning  these  things,  too,  in 
the  Corps  of  Officers.  Also  he  was  already  proficient 
on  the  balalaika. 

And  again,  in  the  mountains  of  a  conquered  province, 
the  little  daughter  of  a  gamekeeper  to  nobility  was 
preparing  to  emigrate  with  her  father  to  a  new  home 
in  the  Western  world,  where  she  would  learn  to  per 
form  miracles  with  rifle  and  revolver,  and  where  the 
beauty  of  the  hermit  thrush's  song  would  startle 
her  into  comparing  it  to  the  beauty  of  her  own  un 
tried  voice.  But  to  her  father,  and  to  her,  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  all  the  world  was  love  of  Father 
land. 

Over  these,  and  millions  of  others,  brooded  the  spell 
of  the  Dark  Star.  Even  the  world  itself  lay  under  it, 
vaguely  uneasy,  sometimes  startled  to  momentary  seis 
mic  panic.  Then,  ere  mundane  self-control  restored 
terrestrial  equilibrium,  a  few  mountains  exploded,  an 
island  or  two  lay  shattered  by  earthquake,  boiling  mud 
and  pumice  blotted  out  one  city;  earth-shock  and  fire 
another ;  a  tidal  wave  a  third. 

But  the  world  settled  down  and  balanced  itself  once 
more  on  the  edge  of  the  perpetual  abyss  into  which  it 
must  fall  some  day;  the  invisible  shadow  of  the  Dark 
Star  swept  it  at  intervals  when  some  far  and  nameless 
sun  blazed  out  unseen;  days  dawned;  the  sun  of  the 
solar  system  rose  furtively  each  day  and  hung  around 
the  heavens  until  that  dusky  huntress,  Night,  chased 
him  once  more  beyond  the  earth's  horizon. 

xix 


THE  DARK  STAR 


The  shadow  of  the  Dark  Star  was  always  there, 
though  none  saw  it  in  sunshine  or  in  moonlight,  or  in 
the  silvery  lustre  of  the  planets. 

A  boy,  born  under  it,  stood  outside  the  fringe  of 
willow  and  alder,  through  which  moved  two  English 
setters  followed  and  controlled  by  the  boy's  father. 

"Mark !"  called  the  father. 

Out  of  the  willows  like  a  feathered  bomb  burst  a  big 
grouse,  and  the  green  foliage  that  barred  its  flight 
seemed  to  explode  as  the  strong  bird  sheered  out  into 
the  sunshine. 

The  boy's  gun,  slanting  upward  at  thirty  degrees, 
glittered  in  the  sun  an  instant,  then  the  left  barrel 
spoke;  and  the  grouse,  as  though  struck  by  lightning 
in  mid-air,  stopped  with  a  jerk,  then  slanted  swiftly 
and  struck  the  ground. 

"Dead !"  cried  the  boy,  as  a  setter  appeared,  leading 
on  straight  to  the  heavy  mass  of  feathers  lying  on  the 
pasture  grass. 

"Clean  work,  Jim,"  said  his  father,  strolling  out  of 
the  willows.  "But  wasn't  it  a  bit  risky,  considering  the 
little  girl  yonder?" 

"Father !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  very  red.  "I  never  even 
saw  her.  I'm  ashamed." 

They  stood  looking  across  the  pasture,  where  a  little 
girl  in  a  pink  gingham  dress  lingered  watching  them, 
evidently  lured  by  her  curiosity  from  the  old  house  at 
the  crossroads  just  beyond. 

Jim  Neeland,  still  red  with  mortification,  took  the 
big  cock-grouse  from  the  dog  which  brought  it — a 
tender-mouthed,  beautifully  trained  Belton,  who  stood 
with  his  feathered  offering  in  his  jaws,  very  serious, 
very  proud,  awaiting  praise  from  the  Neelands,  father 
and  son. 

xx 


PREFACE 

Neeland  senior  "drew"  the  bird  and  distributed  the 
sacrifice  impartially  between  both  dogs — it  being  the 
custom  of  the  country. 

Neeland  junior  broke  his  gun,  replaced  the  exploded 
shell,  content  indeed  with  his  one  hundred  per  cent  per 
formance. 

"Better  run  over  and  speak  to  the  little  girl,  Jim," 
suggested  old  Dick  Neeland,  as  he  motioned  the  dogs 
into  covert  again. 

So  Jim  ran  lightly  across  the  stony,  clover-set 
ground  to  where  the  little  girl  roamed  along  the  old 
snake  fence,  picking  berries  sometimes,  sometimes 
watching  the  sportsmen  out  of  shy,  golden-grey 
eyes. 

"Little  girl,"  he  said,  "I'm  afraid  the  shot  from  my 
gun  came  rattling  rather  close  to  you  that  time. 
You'll  have  to  be  careful.  I've  noticed  you  here  be 
fore.  It  won't  do ;  you'll  have  to  keep  out  of  range 
of  those  bushes,  because  when  we're  inside  we  can't  see 
exactly  where  we're  firing." 

The  child  said  nothing.  She  looked  up  at  the  boy, 
smiled  shyly,  then,  with  much  composure,  began  her 
retreat,  not  neglecting  any  tempting  blackberry  on  the 
way. 

The  sun  hung  low  over  the  hazy  Gayfield  hills ;  the 
beeches  and  oaks  of  Mohawk  County  burned  brown  and 
crimson;  silver  birches  supported  their  delicate  cano 
pies  of  burnt  gold;  and  imperial  white  pines  clothed 
hill  and  vale  in  a  stately  robe  of  green. 

Jim  Neeland  forgot  the  child — or  remembered  her 
only  to  exercise  caution  in  the  Brookhollow  covert. 

The  little  girl  Ruhannah,  who  had  once  fidgeted  with 
prickly  heat  in  her  mother's  arms  outside  the  walls  of 
Trebizond,  did  not  forget  this  easily  smiling,  tall  young 

xxi 


THE  DARK  STAR 


fellow — a  grown  man  to  her — who  had  come  across  the 
pasture  lot  to  warn  her. 

But  it  was  many  a  day  before  they  met  again,  though 
these  two  also  had  been  born  under  the  invisible  shadow 
of  the  Dark  Star.  But  the  shadow  of  Erlik  is  always 
passing  like  swift  lightning  across  the  Phantom  Planet 
which  has  fled  the  other  way  since  Time  was  born. 

Allahou  Ekber,  0  Tclimguiz  Khagan! 

A  native  Mongol  missionary  said  to  Ruhannah's 
father : 

"As  the  chronicles  of  the  Eighurs  have  it,  long  ago 
there  fell  metal  from  the  Black  Racer  of  the  skies ;  the 
first  dagger  was  made  of  it ;  and  the  first  image  of  the 
Prince  of  Darkness.  These  pass  from  Kurd  to  Cossack 
by  theft,  by  gift,  by  loss ;  they  pass  from  nation  to 
nation  by  accident,  which  is  Divine  design. 

"And  where  they  remain,  war  is.  And  lasts  until 
image  and  dagger  are  carried  to  another  land  where 
war  shall  be.  But  where  there  is  war,  only  the  predes 
tined  suffer — those  born  under  Erlik — children  of  the 
Dark  Star." 

"I  thought,"  said  the  Reverend  Wilbour  Carew,  "that 
my  brother  had  confessed  Christ." 

"I  am  but  repeating  to  you  what  my  father  be 
lieved;  and  Temujin  before  him,"  replied  the  native 
convert,  his  remote  gaze  lost  in  reflection. 

His  eyes  were  quite  little  and  coloured  like  a  lion's; 
and  sometimes,  in  deep  reverie,  the  corners  of  his  upper 
lip  twitched. 

This  happened  when  Ruhannah  lay  fretting  in  her 
mother's  arms,  and  the  hot  wind  blew  on  Trebizond. 

Under  the  Dark  Star,  too,  a  boy  grew  up  in  Minetta 
Lane,  not  less  combative  than  other  ragged  boys  about 

xxii 


PREFACE 


him,  but  he  was  inclined  to  arrange  and  superintend 
fist  fights  rather  than  to  participate  in  battle,  except 
with  his  wits. 

His  name  was  Eddie  Brandes ;  his  first  fortune  of 
three  dollars  was  amassed  at  craps ;  he  became  a  hang 
er-on  in  ward  politics,  at  race-tracks,  stable,  club, 
squared  ring,  vaudeville,  burlesque.  Long  Acre  at 
tracted  him — but  always  the  gambling  end  of  the  oper 
ation. 

Which  predilection,  with  its  years  of  ups  and  downs, 
landed  him  one  day  in  Western  Canada  with  an  "Un 
known"  to  match  against  an  Athabasca  blacksmith, 
and  a  training  camp  as  the  prospect  for  the  next  six 
weeks. 

There  lived  there,  gradually  dying,  one  Albrecht  Du- 
mont,  lately  head  gamekeeper  to  nobility  in  the  moun 
tains  of  a  Lost  Province,  and  wearing  the  Iron  Cross 
of  1870  on  the  ruins  of  a  gigantic  and  bony  chest,  now 
as  hollow  a,s  a  Gothic  ruin. 

And  if,  like  a  thousand  fellow  patriots,  he  had  been 
ordered  to  the  Western  World  to  watch  and  report  to 
his  Government  the  trend  and  tendency  of  that  West 
ern,  English-speaking  world,  only  his  Government  and 
his  daughter  knew  it — a  child  of  the  Dark  Star  now 
grown  to  early  womanhood,  with  a  voice  like  a  hermit 
thrush  and  the  skill  of  a  sorceress  with  anything  that 
sped  a  bullet. 

Before  the  Unknown  was  quite  ready  to  meet  the 
Athabasca  blacksmith,  Albrecht  Dumont,  dying  faster 
now,  signed  his  last  report  to  the  Government  at  Ber 
lin,  which  his  daughter  Use  had  written  for  him — some 
thing  about  Canadian  canals  and  stupid  Yankees  and 
their  greed,  indifference,  cowardice,  and  sloth. 

xxiii 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Dumont's  mind  wandered: 

"After  the  well-born  Herr  Gott  relieves  me  at  my 
post,"  he  whispered,  "do  thou  pick  up  my  burden  and 
stand  guard,  little  Use." 

"Yes,  father." 

"Thy  sacred  promise?" 

"My  promise." 

The  next  day  Dumont  felt  better  than  he  had  felt 
for  a  year. 

"Use,  who  is  the  short  and  broadly  constructed 
American  who  comes  now  already  every  day  to  see  thee 
and  to  hear  thee  sing?" 

"His  name  is  Eddie  Brandes." 

"He  is  of  the  fight  gesellschaft,  not?" 

"He  should  gain  much  money  by  the  fight.  A  thea 
tre  in  Chicago  may  he  willingly  control,  in  which  light 
opera  shall  be  given." 

"Is  it  for  that  he  hears  so  willingly  thy  voice?" 

"It  is  for  that.  .  .  .  And  love." 

"And  what  of  Herr  Max  Venem,  who  has  asked  of 
me  thy  little  hand  in  marriage?" 

The  girl  was  silent. 

"Thou  dost  not  love  him?" 

"No." 

Toward  sunset,  Dumont,  lying  by  the  window,  opened 
his  eyes  of  a  dying  Lammergeier: 
"My  Use." 
"Father?" 

"What  has  thou  to  this  man  said?" 
"That  I  will  be  engaged  to  him  if  thou  approve." 
"He  has  gained  the  fight?" 

"Today.  .  .  .  And    many    thousand    dollars.     The 
xxiv 


PREFACE 

theatre  in  Chicago  is  his  when  he  desires.  Riches,  lei 
sure,  opportunity  to  study  for  a  career  upon  his  stage, 
are  mine  if  I  desire." 

"Dost  thou  desire  this,  little  Use?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  man  Venem  who  has  followed  thee  so  long?" 

"I  cannot  be  what  he  would  have  me — a  Hatisfrau — 
to  mend  his  linen  for  my  board  and  lodging." 

"And  the  Fatherland  which  placed  me  here  on  out 
post?" 

"I  take  thy  place  when  God  relieves  thee." 

"So  ist's  recht!  .  .  .  Grus  Gott — Use " 

Among  the  German  settlers  a  five-piece  brass  band 
had  been  organised  the  year  before. 

It  marched  at  the  funeral  of  Albrecht  Dumont,  lately 
head  gamekeeper  to  nobility  in  the  mountains  of  a 
long-lost  province. 

Three  months  later  Use  Dumont  arrived  in  Chicago 
to  marry  Eddie  Brandes.  One  Benjamin  Stull  was 
best  man.  Others  present  included  "Captain"  Quint, 
"Doc"  Curfoot,  "Parson"  Smawley,  Abe  Gordon- 
friends  of  the  bridegroom. 

Invited  by  the  bride,  among  others  were  Theodor 
Weishelm,  the  Hon.  Charles  Wilson,  M.P.,  and  Herr 
Johann  Kestner,  a  wealthy  gentleman  from  Leipsic 
seeking  safe  and  promising  investments  in  Canada  and 
the  United  States. 

A  year  later  Use  Dumont  Brandes,  assuming  the 
stage  name  of  Minna  Minti,  sang  the  role  of  Bettma 
in  "The  Mascotte,"  at  the  Brandes  Theatre  in  Chicago. 

A  year  later,  when  she  created  the  part  of  Kathi  in 
"The  White  Horse,"  Max  Venem  sent  word  to  her  that 

XXV 


THE  DARK  STAB 


she  would  live  to  see  her  husband  lying  in  the  gutter 
under  his  heel.  Which  made  the  girl  unhappy  in  her 
triumph. 

But  Venem  hunted  up  Abe  Grittlefeld  and  told  him 
very  coolly  that  he  meant  to  ruin  Brandes. 

And  within  a  month  the  latest  public  favourite,  Minna 
Minti,  sat  in  her  dressing-room,  wet-eyed,  enraged,  with 
the  reports  of  Venem's  private  detectives  locked  in  the 
drawer  of  her  dressing  table,  and  the  curtain  waiting. 

So  complex  was  life  already  becoming  to  these  few 
among  the  million  children  of  the  Dark  Star  Erlik — to 
everyone,  from  the  child  that  fretted  in  its  mother's 
arms  under  the  hot  wind  near  Trebizond,  to  a  deposed 
Sultan,  cowering  behind  the  ivory  screen  in  his  zenana, 
weeping  tears  that  rolled  like  oil  over  his  fat  jowl  to 
which  still  adhered  the  powdered  sugar  of  a  Turkish 
sweetmeat. 

Allahou  Ekber,  Khodja;  God  is  great.  Great  also, 
Ande,  is  Ali,  the  Fourth  Caliph,  cousin-companion  of 
Mahomet  the  Prophet.  But,  O  tougtchi,  be  thy  name 
Niaz  and  thy  surname  Bai',  for  Prince  Erlik  speeds  on 
his  Dark  Star,  and  beneath  the  end  of  the  argument  be 
tween  those  two  last  survivors  of  a  burnt-out  world — 
behold !  The  sword ! 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  WONDER-BOX 

As  long  as  she  could  remember  she  had  been  per 
mitted  to  play  with  the  contents  of  the  late  Herr 
Conrad  Wilner's  wonder-box.  The  programme  on 
such  occasions  varied  little;  the  child  was  permitted 
to  rummage  among  the  treasures  in  the  box  until  she 
had  satisfied  her  perennial  curiosity ;  conversation  with 
her  absent-minded  father  ensued,  which  ultimately  in 
cluded  a  personal  narrative,  dragged  out  piecemeal  from 
the  reticent,  dreamy  invalid.  Then  always  a  few  pages 
of  the  diary  kept  by  the  late  Herr  Wilner  were  read  as 
a  bedtime  story.  And  bath  and  bed  and  dreamland  fol 
lowed.  That  was  the  invariable  routine,  now  once  more 
in  full  swing. 

Her  father  lay  on  his  invalid's  chair,  reading;  his 
rubber-shod  crutches  rested  against  the  wall,  within 
easy  reach.  By  him,  beside  the  kerosene  lamp,  her 
mother  sat,  mending  her  child's  stockings  and  under 
wear. 

Outside  the  circle  of  lamplight  the  incandescent  eyes 
of  the  stove  glowed  steadily  through  the  semi-dusk ;  and 
the  child,  always  fascinated  by  anything  that  aroused 
her  imagination,  lifted  her  gaze  furtively  from  time  to 
time  to  convince  herself  that  it  really  was  the  big,  fa 
miliar  stove  which  glared  redly  back  at  her,  and  not 

1 


THE  DARK  STAR 


a  dragon  into  which  her  creative  fancy  had  so  often 
transformed  it. 

Reassured,  she  continued  to  explore  the  contents  of 
the  wonder-box — a  toy  she  preferred  to  her  doll,  but 
not  to  her  beloved  set  of  water-colours  and  crayon  pen 
cils. 

Some  centuries  ago  Pandora's  box  let  loose  a  world 
of  troubles ;  Herr  Wilner's  box  apparently  contained 
only  pleasure  for  a  little  child  whose  pleasures  were 
mostly  of  her  own  invention. 

It  was  a  curious  old  box,  made  of  olive  wood  and 
bound  with  bands  of  some  lacquered  silvery  metal  to 
make  it  strong — rupee  silver,  perhaps — strangely 
wrought  with  Arabic  characters  engraved  and  in  shal 
low  relief.  It  had  handles  on  either  side,  like  a  sea- 
chest;  a  silver-lacquered  lock  and  hasp  which  retained 
traces  of  violent  usage ;  and  six  heavy  strap  hinges  of 
the  same  lacquered  metal. 

Within  it  the  little  child  knew  that  a  most  fascinating 
collection  of  articles  was  to  be  discovered,  taken  out 
one  by  one  with  greatest  care,  played  with  discreetly, 
and,  at  her  mother's  command,  returned  to  their  sev 
eral  places  in  Herr  Wilner's  box. 

There  were,  in  this  box,  two  rather  murderous-look 
ing  Kurdish  daggers  in  sheaths  of  fretted  silver — never 
to  be  unsheathed,  it  was  solemnly  understood,  except 
by  the  child's  father. 

There  was  a  pair  of  German  army  revolvers  of  the 
pattern  of  1900,  the  unexploded  cartridges  of  which 
had  long  since  been  extracted  and  cautiously  thrown 
into  the  mill  pond  by  the  child's  mother,  much  to  the 
surprise,  no  doubt,  of  the  pickerel  and  sunfish. 

There  were  writing  materials  of  sandalwood,  a  few 
sea  shells,  a  dozen  books  in  German  with  many  steel 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


plate  engravings ;  also  a  red  Turkish  fez  with  a  dark 
blue  tassel ;  two  pairs  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles ;  sev 
eral  tobacco  pipes  of  Dresden  porcelain,  a  case  full  of 
instruments  for  mechanical  drawing,  a  thick  blank  book 
bound  in  calf  and  containing  the  diary  of  the  late 
Herr  Wilner  down  to  within  a  few  minutes  before  his 
death. 

Also  there  was  a  figure  in  bronze,  encrusted  with  tar 
nished  gold  and  faded  traces  of  polychrome  decoration. 

Erlik,  the  Yellow  Devil,  as  Herr  Wilner  called  it, 
seemed  too  heavy  to  be  a  hollow  casting,  and  yet,  when 
shaken,  something  within  rattled  faintly,  as  though 
when  the  molten  metal  was  cooling  a  fissure  formed 
inside,  into  which  a  few  loose  fragments  of  bronze  had 
fallen. 

It  apparently  had  not  been  made  to  represent  any 
benign  Chinese  god ;  the  aspect  of  the  yellow  figure  was 
anything  but  benevolent.  The  features  were  terrific; 
scowls  infested  its  grotesque  countenance;  threatening 
brows  bent  inward ;  angry  eyes  rolled  in  apparent  fury ; 
its  double  gesture  with  sword  and  javelin  was  violent 
and  almost  humorously  menacing.  And  Ruhannah 
adored  it. 

For  a  little  while  the  child  played  her  usual  game  of 
frightening  her  doll  with  the  Yellow  Devil  and  then 
rescuing  her  by  the  aid  of  a  fairy  prince  which  she  her 
self  had  designed,  smeared  with  water-colours,  and  cut 
out  with  scissors  from  a  piece  of  cardboard. 

After  a  time  she  turned  to  the  remaining  treasures 
in  the  wonder-box.  These  consisted  of  several  volumes 
containing  photographs,  others  full  of  sketches  in  pen 
cil  and  water-colour,  and  a  thick  roll  of  glazed  linen 
scrolls  covered  with  designs  in  India  ink. 

The  photographs  were  of  all  sorts — landscapes,  riv- 

3 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ers,  ships  in  dock,  dry  dock,  and  at  sea;  lighthouses, 
forts,  horses  carrying  soldiers  armed  with  lances  and 
wearing  the  red  fez;  artillery  on  the  march,  infantry, 
groups  of  officers,  all  wearing  the  same  sort  of  fez 
which  lay  there  in  Herr  Wilner's  box  of  olive  wood. 

There  were  drawings,  too — sketches  of  cannon,  of 
rifles,  of  swords ;  drawings  of  soldiers  in  various  gay 
uniforms,  all  carefully  coloured  by  hand.  There  were 
pictures  of  ships,  from  the  sterns  of  which  the  crescent 
flag  floated  lazily ;  sketches  of  great,  ugly-looking  ob 
jects  which  her  father  explained  were  Turkish  iron 
clads.  The  name  "ironclad"  always  sounded  menacing 
and  formidable  to  the  child,  and  the  forbidding  pictures 
fascinated  her. 

Then  there  were  scores  and  scores  of  scrolls  made 
out  of  slippery  white  linen,  on  which  had  been  drawn 
all  sorts  of  most  amazing  geometrical  designs  in  ink. 

"Plans,"  her  father  explained  vaguely.  And,  when 
pressed  by  reiterated  questions:  "Plans  for  military 
works,  I  believe — forts,  docks,  barracks,  fortified  cuts 
and  bridges.  You  are  not  yet  quite  old  enough  to  un 
derstand,  Ruhannah." 

"Who  did  draw  them,  daddy?" 

"A  German  friend  of  mine,  Herr  Conrad  Wilner." 

"What  for?" 

"I  think  his  master  sent  him  to  Turkey  to  make  those 
pictures." 

"For  the  Sultan?" 

"No ;  for  his  Emperor." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  exactly  know,  Rue." 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation  her  father  usually 
laid  aside  his  book  and  composed  himself  for  the  inev 
itable  narrative  soon  to  be  demanded  of  him. 

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THE  WONDER-BOX 


Then,  although  having  heard  the  story  many  times 
from  her  crippled  father's  lips,  but  never  weary  of  the 
repetition,  the  child's  eyes  would  grow  round  and  very 
solemn  in  preparation  for  her  next  and  inevitable  ques 
tion  : 

"And  did  Herr  Wilner  die,  daddy?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Tell  me!" 

"Well,  it  was  when  I  was  a  missionary  in  the 
Trebizond  district,  and  your  mother  and  I 
went " 

"And  me,  daddy?     And  me,  too!" 

"Yes ;  you  were  a  little  baby  in  arms.  And  we  all 
went  to  Gallipoli  to  attend  the  opening  of  a  beautiful 
new  school  which  was  built  for  little  Mohammedan  con 
verts  to  Christianity r 

"Did  I  see  those  little  Christian  children,  daddy?" 

"Yes,  you  saw  them.  But  you  are  too  young  to  re 
member." 

"Tell  me.     Don't  stop !" 

"Then  listen  attentively  without  interrupting,  Rue: 
Your  mother  and  you  and  I  went  to  Gallipoli ;  and  my 
friend,  Herr  Wilner,  who  had  been  staying  with  us  at 
a  town  called  Tchardak,  came  along  with  us  to  attend 
the  opening  of  the  American  school. 

"And  the  night  we  arrived  there  was  trouble.  The 
Turkish  people,  urged  on  by  some  bad  officials  in  the 
Sanjak,  came  with  guns  and  swords  and  spears  and 
set  fire  to  the  mission  school. 

"They  did  not  offer  to  harm  us.  We  had  already 
collected  our  converts  and  our  personal  baggage.  Our 
caravan  was  starting.  The  mob  might  not  have  done 
anything  worse  than  burn  the  school  if  Herr  Wilner 
had  not  lost  his  temper  and  threatened  them  with  a 

5 


THE  DARK  STAR 


dog  whip.  Then  they  killed  him  with  stones,  there  in 
the  walled  yard." 

At  this  point  in  the  tragedy,  the  eagerly  awaited 
and  ardently  desired  shivers  passed  up  and  down  the 
child's  back. 

"O— oh!     Did  they  kill  him  dead?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Was  he  a  martyr?" 

"In  a  way  he  was  a  martyr  to  his  duty,  I  suppose. 
At  least  I  gather  so  from  his  diary  and  from  what  he 
once  told  me  of  his  life." 

"And  then  what  happened?     Tell  me,  daddy." 

"A  Greek  steamer  took  us  and  our  baggage  to  Trebi- 
zond." 

"And  what  then?" 

"And  then,  a  year  later,  the  terrible  massacre  at  our 
Trebizond  mission  occurred " 

That  was  what  the  child  was  waiting  for. 

"I  know!"  she  interrupted  eagerly.  "The  wicked 
Turks  and  the  cruel  Kurds  did  come  galloping  and 
shouting  'Allah!'  And  all  the  poor,  converted  people 
became  martyrs.  And  God  loves  martyrs,  doesn't 
He?" 

"Yes,  dear » 

"And  then  they  did  kill  all  the  poor  little  Christian 
children !"  exclaimed  the  child  excitedly.  "And  they 
did  cut  you  with  swords  and  guns !  And  then  the  kind 
sailors  with  the  American  flag  took  you  and  mamma  and 
me  to  a  ship  and  saved  us  by  the  grace  of  our  Lord 
Jesus !" 

"Yes,  dear " 

"Tell  me!" 

"That  is  all " 

"No;  you  walk  on  two  crutches,  and  you  cannot  be 

6 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


a  missionary  any  more  because  you  are  sick  all  the  time ! 
Tell  me,  daddy!" 

"Yes.     And  that  is  all,  Rue " 

"Oh,  no!  Please!  Tell  me!  ...  And  then,  don't 
you  remember  how  the  brave  British  sailors  and  our 
brave  American  sailors  pointed  their  cannon  at  the 
7-ronclads,  and  they  said,  'Do  not  shoot  or  we  shall 
shoot  you  to  pieces.'  And  then  the  brave  American 
sailors  went  on  shore  and  brought  back  some  poor  little 
wounded  converted  children,  and  your  baggage  and  the 
magic  box  of  Herr  Wilner!" 

"Yes,  dear.     And  now  that  is  enough  tonight " 

"Oh,  daddy,  you  must  first  read  in  the  di-a-ry  which 
Herr  Wilner  made!" 

"Bring  me  the  book,  Rue." 

With  an  interest  forever  new,  the  Carew  family  pre 
pared  to  listen  to  the  words  written  by  a  strange  man 
who  had  died  only  a  few  moments  after  he  had  made  the 
last  entry  in  the  book — before  even  the  ink  was  entirely 
dry  on  the  pages. 

The  child,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  floor,  clasped 
her  little  hands  tightly ;  her  mother  laid  aside  her  sew 
ing,  folded  it,  and  placed  it  in  her  lap;  her  father 
searched  through  the  pencilled  translation  which  he  had 
written  in  between  the  lines  of  German  script,  found 
where  he  had  left  off  the  time  before,  then  continued 
the  diary  of  Herr  Conrad  Wilner,  deceased: 

March  3.  My  original  plans  have  been  sent  to  the  Yildiz 
Palace.  My  duplicates  are  to  go  to  Berlin  when  a 
messenger  from  our  Embassy  arrives.  Murad  Bey 
knows  this.  I  am  sorry  he  knows  it.  But  nobody 
except  myself  is  aware  that  I  have  a  third  set  of 
plans  carefully  hidden. 

March  4.     All   day  with    Murad's   men   setting   wire   en- 

7 


THE  DARK  STAR 


tanglements  under  water;  two  Turkish  destroyers 
patrolling  the  entrance  to  the  bay,  and  cavalry  patrols 
on  the  heights  to  warn  away  the  curious. 

March  6.  Forts  Alamout  and  Shah  Abbas  are  being  re 
constructed  from  the  new  plans.  Wired  areas  under 
water  and  along  the  coves  and  shoals  are  being  plotted. 
Murad  Bey  is  unusually  polite  and  effusive,  con 
versing  with  me  in  German  and  French.  A  spidery 
man  and  very  dangerous. 

March  7.  A  strange  and  tragic  affair  last  night.  The 
heat  being  severe,  I  left  my  tent  about  midnight 
and  went  down  to  the  dock  where  my  little  sail 
boat  lay,  with  the  object  of  cooling  myself  on  the 
water.  There  was  a  hot  land  breeze;  I  sailed  out 
into  the  bay  and  cruised  north  along  the  coves  which 
I  have  wired.  As  I  rounded  a  little  rocky  point  I 
was  surprised  to  see  in  the  moonlight,  very  near, 
a  steam  yacht  at  anchor,  carrying  nc  lights.  The 
longer  I  looked  at  her  the  more  certain  I  became 
that  I  was  gazing  at  the  Imperial  yacht.  I  had  no 
idea  what  the  yacht  might  be  doing  here;  I  ran  my 
sailboat  close  under  the  overhanging  rocks  and  an 
chored.  Then  I  saw  a  small  boat  in  the  moonlight, 
pulling  from  the  yacht  toward  shore,  where  the 
crescent  cove  had  already  been  thoroughly  staked  and 
the  bottom  closely  covered  with  barbed  wire  as  far 
as  the  edge  of  the  deep  channel  which  curves  in 
here  like  a  scimitar. 

It  must  have  been  that  the  people  in  the  boat  mis 
calculated  the  location  of  the  channel,  for  they  were 
well  over  the  sunken  barbed  wire  when  they  lifted 
and  threw  overboard  what  they  had  come  there  to  get 
rid  of — two  dark  bulks  that  splashed. 

I  watched  the  boat  pull  back  to  the  Imperial  yacht. 
A  little  later  the  yacht  weighed  anchor  and  steamed 
northward,  burning  no  lights.  Only  the  red  reflec 
tion  tinging  the  smoke  from  her  stacks  was  visible. 
I  watched  her  until  she  was  lost  in  the  moonlight, 
thinking  all  the  while  of  those  weighted  sacks  so  often 
dropped  overboard  along  the  Bosporus  and  off  Seraglio 
Point  from  that  same  Imperial  yacht. 
8 


"A  strange  and  tragic  affair  last  night." 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


When  the  steamer  had  disappeared,  I  got  out  my 
sweeps  and  rowed  for  the  place  where  the  dark 
objects  had  been  dropped  overboard.  I  knew  that 
they  must  be  resting  somewhere  on  the  closely  criss 
crossed  mesh  of  wires  just  below  the  surface  of  the 
water;  but  I  probed  for  an  hour  before  I  located  any 
thing.  Another  hour  passed  in  trying  to  hook  into 
the  object  with  the  little  three-fluked  grapnel  which 
I  used  as  an  anchor.  I  got  hold  of  something 
finally;  a  heavy  chest  of  olive  wood  bound  with  metal; 
but  I  had  to  rig  a  tackle  before  I  could  hoist  it 
aboard. 

Then  I  cast  out  again;  and  very  soon  my  grapnel 
hooked  into  what  I  expected — a  canvas  sack,  weighted 
with  a  round  shot.  When  I  got  it  aboard,  I  hesitated 
a  long  while  before  opening  it.  Finally  I  made  a  long 
slit  in  the  canvas  with  my  knife.  .  .  . 

She  was  very  young — not  over  sixteen,  I  think,  and 
she  was  really  beautiful,  even  under  her  wet,  dark 
hair.  She  seemed  to  be  a  Caucasian  girl — maybe  a 
Georgian.  She  wore  a  small  gold  cross  which  hung 
from  a  gold  cord  around  her  neck.  There  was  an 
other,  and  tighter,  cord  around  her  neck,  too.  I  cut 
the  silk  bowstring  and  closed  and  bound  her  eyes 
with  my  handkerchief  before  I  rowed  out  a  little 
farther  and  lowered  her  into  the  deep  channel  which 
cuts  eastward  here  like  the  scimitar  of  that  true  be 
liever,  Abdul  Hamid. 

Then  I  hoisted  sail  and  beat  up  slowly  toward  my 
little  dock  under  a  moon  which  had  become  ghastly 
under  the  pallid  aura  of  a  gathering  storm 

"A  poor  dead  young  lady!"  interrupted  the  child, 
clasping  her  hands  more  tightly.  "Did  the  Sultan  kill 
her,  daddy?" 

"It  seems  so,  Ruhannah." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  was  a  very  cruel  and  wicked  Sul 
tan." 

9 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"I  don't  see  why  he  killed  the  beautiful  poor  dead 
lady." 

"If  you  will  listen  and  not  interrupt,  you  shall  learn 
why." 

"And  was  the  chest  that  Herr  Wilner  pulled  up  the 
very  same  chest  that  is  here  on  the  floor  beside  me?" 
insisted  the  child. 

"The  very  same.  Now  listen,  Rue,  and  I  shall  read 
a  little  more  in  Herr  Wilner's  diary,  and  then  you  must 
have  your  bath  and  be  put  to  bed " 

"Please  read,  daddy!" 

The  Reverend  Wilbour  Carew  turned  the  page  and 
quietly  continued: 

March  20.  In  my  own  quarters  at  Trebizond  again,  and 
rid  of  Murad  for  a  while. 

A  canvas  cover  and  rope  handles  concealed  the 
character  of  my  olive  wood  chest.  I  do  not  believe 
anybody  suspects  it  to  be  anything  except  one  of 
the  various  boxes  containing  my  own  personal  effects. 
I  shall  open  it  tonight  with  a  file  and  chisel,  if 
possible. 

March  21.  The  contents  of  the  chest  reveal  something 
of  the  tragedy.  The  box  is  full  of  letters  written 
in  Russian,  and  full  of  stones  which  weigh  col 
lectively  a  hundred  pounds  at  least.  There  is  nothing 
else  in  the  chest  except  a  broken  Ikon  and  a  bronze 
figure  of  Erlik,  a  Yildiz  relic,  no  doubt,  of  some 
Kurdish  raid  into  Mongolia,  and  probably  placed  be 
side  the  dead  girl  by  her  murderers  in  derision.  I 
am  translating  the  letters  and  arranging  them  in 
sequence. 

March  25.  I  have  translated  the  letters.  The  dead  girl's 
name  was  evidently  Tatyana,  one  of  several  children 
of  some  Cossack  chief  or  petty  prince,  and  on  the 
eve  of  her  marriage  to  a  young  officer  named  Mitya, 
the  Kurds  raided  the  town.  They  carried  poor  Taty 
ana  off  along  with  her  wedding  chest — the  chest  I 
fished  up  with  my  grapnel. 
10 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


In  brief,  the  chest  and  the  girl  found  their  way 
into  Abdul's  seraglio.  The  letters  of  the  dead  girl — 
which  were  written  and  entrusted  probably  to  a  faith 
less  slave,  but  which  evidently  never  left  the  seraglio 
— throw  some  light  on  the  tragedy,  for  they  breathe 
indignation  and  contempt  of  Islam,  and  call  on  her 
affianced,  on  her  parents,  and  on  her  people  to  rescue 
her  and  avenge  her. 

And  after  a  while,  no  doubt  Abdul  tired  of  read 
ing  fierce,  unreconciled  little  Tatyana's  stolen  letters, 
and  simply  ended  the  matter  by  having  her  bow- 
strung  and  dumped  overboard  in  a  sack,  together  with 
her  marriage  chest,  her  letters,  and  the  Yellow  Devil 
in  bronze  as  a  final  insult. 

She  seems  to  have  had  a  sister,  Nai'a,  thirteen  years 
old,  betrothed  to  a  Prince  Mistchenka,  a  cavalry  officer 
in  the  Terek  Cossacks.  Her  father  had  been  Hetman 
of  the  Don  Cossacks  before  the  Emperor  Nicholas  re 
served  that  title  for  Imperial  use.  And  she  ended  in 
a  sack  off  Gallipoli !  That  is  the  story  of  Tatyana  and 
her  wedding  chest. 

March  29.  Murad  arrived,  murderously  bland  and  assidu 
ous  in  his  solicitude  for  my  health  and  comfort.  I 
am  almost  positive  he  knows  that  I  fished  up  some 
thing  from  Cove  No.  37  under  the  theoretical  guns 
of  theoretical  Fort  Osman,  both  long  plotted  out  but 
long  delayed. 

April  5.  My  duplicate  plans  for  Gallipoli  have  been 
stolen.  I  have  a  third  set  still.  Colonel  Murad  Bey 
is  not  to  be  trusted.  My  position  is  awkward  and  is 
becoming  serious.  There  is  no  faith  to  be  placed  in 
Abdul  Hamid.  My  credentials,  the  secret  agreement 
with  my  Government,  are  no  longer  regarded  even 
with  toleration  in  the  Yildiz  Kiosque.  A  hundred 
insignificant  incidents  prove  it  every  day.  And  if 
Abdul  dare  not  break  with  Germany  it  is  only  be 
cause  he  is  not  yet  ready  to  defy  the  Young  Turk 
party.  The  British  Embassy  is  very  active  and 
bothers  me  a  great  deal. 

April  10.     My  secret  correspondence  with  Enver  Bey  has 
been   discovered,   and  my  letters   opened.      This   is   a 
11 


THE  DARK  STAR 


very  bad  business.  I  have  notified  my  Government 
that  the  Turkish  Government  does  not  want  me  here; 
that  the  plan  of  a  Germanised  Turkish  army  is  be 
coming  objectionable  to  the  Porte;  that  the  duplicate 
plans  of  our  engineers  for  the  Dardanelles  and  the 
Gallipoli  Peninsula  have  been  stolen. 

April  18.  A  secret  interview  with  Enver  Bey,  who 
promises  that  our  ideas  shall  be  carried  out  when 
his  party  comes  into  power.  Evidently  he  does  not 
know  that  my  duplicates  have  been  stolen. 

Troubles  threaten  in  the  Vilayet  of  Trebizond, 
where  is  an  American  Mission.  I  fear  that  our  emis 
saries  and  the  emissaries  of  Enver  Bey  are  delib 
erately  fomenting  disorders  because  Americans  are 
not  desired  by  our  Government.  Enver  denies  this; 
but  it  is  idle  to  believe  anyone  in  this  country. 
April  16.  Another  interview  with  Enver  Bey.  His  scheme 
is  flatly  revolutionary,  namely,  the  deposition  of  Abdul, 
a  secret  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  with  us; 
the  Germanisation  of  the  Turkish  army  and  navy; 
the  fortification  of  the  Gallipoli  district  according 
to  our  plans ;  a  steadily  increasing  pressure  on  Serbia ; 
a  final  reckoning  with  Russia  which  is  definitely  to 
settle  the  status  of  Albania  and  Serbia  and  leave  the 
Balkan  grouping  to  be  settled  between  Austria,  Ger 
many,  and  Turkey. 

I  spoke  several  times  about  India  and  Egypt,  but 
he  does  not  desire  to  arouse  England  unless  she  in 
terferes. 

I  spoke  also  of  Abdul  Hamid's  secret  and  growing 
fear  of  Germany,  and  his  increasing  inclination 
toward  England  once  more. 

No  trace  of  my  stolen  plans.  The  originals  are 
in  the  Yildiz  Palace.  I  have  a  third  set  secreted, 
about  which  nobody  knows. 

April  21.  I  have  been  summoned  to  the  Yildiz  Palace.  It 
possibly  means  my  assassination.  I  have  confided  my 
box  of  data,  photographs,  and  plans,  to  the  Reverend 
Wilbour  Carew,  an  American  missionary  in  the 
Trebizond  sanjak. 

There  are  rumours  that  Abdul  has  become  mentally 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


unhinged  through  dread  of  assassination.  One  of 
his  own  aides-de-camp,  while  being  granted  an  audi 
ence  in  the  Yildiz,  made  a  sudden  and  abrupt  move 
ment  to  find  his  handkerchief;  and  Abdul  Hamid 
whipped  out  a  pistol  and  shot  him  dead.  This  is 
authentic. 

April  30.  Back  at  Tchardak  with  my  good  missionary  and 
his  wife.  A  strange  interview  with  Abdul.  There 
were  twenty  French  clocks  in  the  room,  all  going  and 
all  striking  at  various  intervals.  The  walls  were  set 
with  French  mirrors. 

Abdul's  cordiality  was  terrifying;  the  full  original 
set  of  my  Gallipoli  plans  was  brought  in.  After  a 
while,  the  Sultan  reminded  me  that  the  plans  were 
in  duplicate,  and  asked  me  where  were  these  dupli 
cates.  What  duplicity !  But  I  said  pleasantly  that 
they  were  to  be  sent  to  General  Staff  Headquarters 
in  Berlin. 

He  pretended  to  understand  that  this  was  con 
trary  to  the  agreement,  and  insisted  that  the  plans 
should  first  be  sent  to  him  for  comparison.  I  merely 
referred  him  to  his  agreement  with  my  Government. 
But  all  the  while  we  were  talking  I  was  absolutely 
convinced  that  the  stolen  duplicates  were  at  that  mo 
ment  in  the  Yildiz  Kiosque.  Abdul  must  have  known 
that  I  believed  it.  Yet  we  both  merely  smiled  our 
confidence  in  each  other. 

He  seemed  to  be  unusually  good-natured  and 
gracious,  saying  that  no  doubt  I  was  quite  right  in 
sending  the  plans  to  Berlin.  He  spoke  of  Enver  Bey 
cordially,  and  said  he  hoped  to  be  reconciled  to  him 
and  his  friends  very  soon.  When  Abdul  Hamid  be 
comes  reconciled  to  anybody  who  disagrees  with  him, 
the  latter  is  always  dead. 

He  asked  me  where  I  was  going.  I  told  him  about 
the  plans  I  was  preparing  for  the  Trebizond  district. 
He  offered  me  an  escort  of  Kurdish  cavalry,  saying 
that  he  had  been  told  the  district  was  not  very  safe. 
I  thanked  him  and  declined  his  escort  of  assassins. 

I   saw  it  all  very  plainly.     Like  a  pirate  captain, 
Abdul  orders  his   crew  to  dig  a  secret  hole   for  his 
13 


THE  DARK  STAR 


treasure,  and  when  the  hole  is  dug  and  the  treasure 
hidden,  he  murders  the  men  who  hid  it  for  him, 
so  that  they  shall  never  betray  its  location.  I  am 
one  of  those  men.  That  is  what  he  means  for  me, 
who  have  given  him  his  Gallipoli  plans.  No  wonder 
that  in  England  they  call  him  Abdul  the  Damned! 

May  3.  In  the  Bazaar  at  Tchardak  yesterday  two  men 
tried  to  stab  me.  I  got  their  daggers,  but  they  es 
caped  in  the  confusion.  Murad  called  to  express  hor 
ror  and  regret.  Yes;  regret  that  I  had  not  been 
murdered. 

May  5.  I  have  written  to  my  Government  that  my  use 
fulness  here  seems  to  be  ended;  that  my  life  is  in 
hourly  danger;  that  I  desire  to  be  more  thoroughly 
informed  concerning  the  relations  between  Berlin  and 
the  Yildiz  Palace. 

May  6.  I  am  in  disgrace.  My  Government  is  furious  be 
cause  my  correspondence  with  Enver  Bey  has  been 
stolen.  The  Porte  has  complained  about  me  to  Ber 
lin;  Berlin  disowns  me,  disclaims  all  knowledge  of 
my  political  activities  outside  of  my  engineering  work. 
This  is  what  failure  to  carry  out  secret  instructions 
invariably  brings — desertion  by  the  Government  from 
which  such  instructions  are  received.  In  diplomacy, 
failure  is  a  crime  never  forgiven.  Abandoned  by  my 
Government  I  am  now  little  better  than  an  outlaw 
here.  Two  courses  remain  open  to  me — to  go  back 
in  disgrace  and  live  obscurely  for  the  remainder  of 
my  life,  or  to  risk  my  life  by  hanging  on  desperately 
here  with  an  almost  hopeless  possibility  before  me  of 
accomplishing  something  to  serve  my  Government  and 
rehabilitate  myself. 

The  matter  of  the  stolen  plans  is  being  taken  up 
by  our  Ambassador  at  the  Sublime  Porte.  The  British 
Embassy  is  suspected.  What  folly !  I  possess  a  third 
set  of  plans.  Our  Embassy  ought  to  send  to  Trebizond 
for  them.  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 

May  12.     A  letter  I  wrote  May  10  to  the  German  Embassy 

has   been   stolen.      I    am   now   greatly   worried    about 

the  third   set  of   plans.      It   seems    safest   to   include 

the  box  containing  them   among  the   baggage  of  the 

14 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


American   missionary,  the   Reverend  Wilbour   Carew; 
and,  too,  for  me  to  seek  shelter  with  him. 

As  I  am  now  afraid  that  an  enemy  may  imper 
sonate  an  official  of  the  German  Embassy,  I  have  the 
missionary's  promise  that  he  will  retain  and  conceal 
the  contents  of  my  box  until  I  instruct  him  other 
wise.  I  am  practically  in  hiding  at  his  house,  and 
in  actual  fear  of  my  life. 

May  15.  The  missionary  and  his  wife  and  baby  travel 
to  Gallipoli,  where  an  American  school  for  girls  is 
about  to  be  opened. 

Today,  in  a  cafe,  I  noticed  that  the  flies,  swarm 
ing  on  the  edge  of  my  coffee  cup,  fell  into  the  saucer 
dead.  I  did  not  taste  my  coffee. 

May  16.  Last  night  a  shot  was  fired  through  my  door. 
I  have  decided  to  travel  to  Gallipoli  with  the  mis 
sionary. 

May  18.  My  groom  stole  and  ate  an  orange  from  my 
breakfast  tray.  He  is  dead. 

May  20.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  and  his  wife  are  most 
kind  and  sympathetic.  They  are  good  people,  simple, 
kindly,  brave,  faithful,  and  fearlessly  devoted  to  God's 
service  in  this  vile  land  of  treachery  and  lies. 

May  21.  I  have  confessed  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  as 
I  would  confess  to  a  priest  in  holy  orders.  I  have 
told  him  all  under  pledge  of  secrecy.  I  told  him 
also  that  the  sanctuary  he  offers  might  be  violated 
with  evil  consequences  to  him;  and  that  I  would  travel 
as  far  as  Gallipoli  with  him  and  then  leave.  But 
the  kind,  courageous  missionary  and  his  wife  insist 
that  I  remain  under  the  protection  which  he  says  the 
flag  of  his  country  affords  me.  If  I  could  only  get 
my  third  set  of  plans  out  of  the  country ! 

May  22.  Today  my  coffee  was  again  poisoned.  I  don't 
know  what  prevented  me  from  tasting  it — some  vague 
premonition.  A  pariah  dog  ate  the  bread  I  soaked 
in  it,  and  died  before  he  could  yelp. 

It  looks  to  me  as  though  my  end  were  inevitable. 

Today  I  gave  my  bronze  figure  of  Erlik,  the  Yellow 

Devil,   to   Mrs.    Carew   to   keep   as   a   dowry   for   her 

little  daughter,  now  a  baby  in  arms.     If  it  is  hollow, 

15 


THE  DARK  STAR 


as  I  feel  sure,  there  are  certain  to  be  one  or  two 
jewels  in  it.  And  the  figure  itself  might  bring  fire 
hundred  marks  at  an  antiquary's. 

May  30.  Arrived  at  the  Gallipoli  mission.  Three  Turkish 
ironclads  lying  close  inshore.  A  British  cruiser,  the 
Cobra,  and  an  American  cruiser,  the  Oneida,  ap 
peared  about  sunset  and  anchored  near  the  ironclads. 
The  bugles  on  deck  were  plainly  audible.  If  a  Ger 
man  warship  appears  I  shall  carry  my  box  on  board. 
My  only  chance  to  rehabilitate  myself  is  to  get  the 
third  set  of  plans  to  Berlin. 

June  1.  In  the  middle  of  the  religious  exercises  with 
which  the  new  school  is  being  inaugurated,  cries  of 
"Allah"  come  from  a  great  crowd  which  has  gathered. 
From  my  window  where  I  am  writing  I  can  see  how 
insolent  the  attitude  of  this  Mohammedan  riffraff  is 
becoming.  They  spit  upon  the  ground — a  pebble  is 
tossed  at  a  convert — a  sudden  shout  of  "Allah" — 
pushing  and  jostling — a  lighted  torch  blazes!  I  take 
my  whip  of  rhinoceros  hide  and  go  down  into  the 
court  to  put  a  stop  to  this  insolence 

Her  father  slowly  closed  the  book. 

"Daddy!     Is  that  where  poor  Herr  Wilner  died?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

After  a  silence  his  wife  said  thoughtfully : 

"I  have  always  considered  it  very  strange  that  the 
German  Government  did  not  send  for  Herr  Wilner's 
papers." 

"Probably  they  did,  Mary.  And  very  probably  Mu- 
rad  Bey  told  them  that  the  papers  had  been  destroyed." 

"And  you  never  believed  it  to  be  your  duty  to  send 
the  papers  to  the  German  Government?" 

"No.  It  was  an  unholy  alliance  that  Germany  sought 
with  that  monster  Abdul.  And  when  Enver  Pasha  seized 
the  reins  of  government  such  an  alliance  would  have 
been  none  the  less  unholy.  You  know  and  so  do  I  that 
if  Germany  did  not  actually  incite  the  Armenian  massa- 

16 


THE  WONDER-BOX 


cres  she  at  least  was  cognisant  of  preparations  made 
to  begin  them.  Germany  is  still  hostile  to  all  British 
or  American  missions,  all  Anglo-Saxon  influence  in 
Turkey. 

"No ;  I  did  not  send  Herr  Wilner's  papers  to  Berlin ; 
and  the  events  of  the  last  fifteen  years  have  demon 
strated  that  I  was  right  in  withholding  them." 

His  wife  nodded,  laid  aside  her  work  basket,  and 
rose. 

"Come,  Ruhannah,"  she  said  with  decision;  "put 
everything  back  into  the  wonder-box." 

And,  stooping,  she  lifted  and  laid  away  in  it  the 
scowling,  menacing  Yellow  Devil. 

And  so,  every  month  or  two,  the  wonder-box  was 
opened  for  the  child  to  play  with,  the  same  story  told, 
extracts  from  the  diary  read;  but  these  ceremonies, 
after  a  while,  began  to  recur  at  lengthening  intervals  as 
the  years  passed  and  the  child  grew  older. 

And  finally  it  was  left  to  her  to  open  the  box  when 
she  desired,  and  to  read  for  herself  the  pencilled  trans 
lation  of  the  diary,  which  her  father  had  made  during 
some  of  the  idle  and  trying  moments  of  his  isolated  and 
restricted  life.  And,  when  she  had  been  going  to  school 
for  some  years,  other  and  more  vivid  interests  replaced 
her  dolls  and  her  wonder-box;  but  not  her  beloved  case 
of  water-colours  and  crayon  pencils. 


CHAPTER  II 
BROOKHOLLOW 

THE  mother,  shading  the  candle  with  her  work-worn 
hand,  looked  down  at  the  child  in  silence.  The  subdued 
light  fell  on  a  freckled  cheek  where  dark  lashes  rested, 
on  a  slim  neck  and  thin  shoulders  framed  by  a  mass  of 
short,  curly  chestnut  hair. 

Though  it  was  still  dark,  the  mill  whistle  was  blowing 
for  six  o'clock.  Like  a  goblin  horn  it  sounded  omi 
nously  through  Ruhannah's  dream.  She  stirred  in  her 
sleep ;  her  mother  stole  across  the  room,  closed  the 
window,  and  went  away  carrying  the  candle  with  her. 

At  seven  the  whistle  blew  again ;  the  child  turned  over 
and  unclosed  her  eyes.  A  brassy  light  glimmered  be 
tween  leafless  apple  branches  outside  her  window. 
Through  the  frosty  radiance  of  sunrise  a  blue  jay 
screamed. 

Ruhannah  cuddled  deeper  among  the  blankets  and 
buried  the  tip  of  her  chilly  nose.  But  the  grey  eyes 
remained  wide  open  and,  under  the  faded  quilt,  her  little 
ears  were  listening  intently. 

Presently  from  the  floor  below  came  the  expected 
summons : 

"Ruhannah!" 

"Oh,  please,  mother !" 

"It's  after  seven " 

"I  know:  I'll  be  ready  in  time!" 

"It's  after  seven,  Rue!" 

"I'm  so  cold,  mother  dear!" 

18 


BROOKHOLLOW 


"I  closed  your  window.  You  may  bathe  and  dress 
down  here." 

"B-r-r-r !    I  can  see  my  own  breath  when  I  breathe !" 

"Come  down  and  dress  by  the  kitchen  range,"  re 
peated  her  mother.  "I've  warm  water  all  ready  for 
you." 

The  brassy  light  behind  the  trees  was  becoming 
golden ;  slim  bluish  shadows  already  stretched  from  the 
base  of  every  tree  across  frozen  fields  dusted  with 
snow. 

As  usual,  the  lank  black  cat  came  walking  into  the 
room,  its  mysterious  crystal-green  eyes  brilliant  in  the 
glowing  light. 

Listening,  the  child  heard  her  father  moving  heavily 
about  in  the  adjoining  room. 

Then,  from  below  again: 

"Ruhannah!" 

"I'm  going  to  get  up,  mother !" 

"Rue !     Obey  me  !" 

"I'm  up!  I'm  on  my  way !"  She  sprang  out  amid  a 
tempest  of  bedclothes,  hopped  gingerly  across  the 
chilly  carpet,  seized  her  garments  in  one  hand,  comb 
and  toothbrush  in  the  other,  ran  into  the  hallway  and 
pattered  downstairs. 

The  cat  followed  leisurely,  twitching  a  coal-black 
tail. 

"Mother,  could  I  have  my  breakfast  first?  I'm  so 
hungry 

Her  mother  turned  from  the  range  and  kissed  her  as 
she  huddled  close  to  it.  The  sheet  of  zinc  underneath 
warmed  her  bare  feet  delightfully.  She  sighed  with 
satisfaction,  looked  wistfully  at  the  coffeepot  simmer 
ing,  sniffed  at  the  biscuits  and  sizzling  ham. 

"Could  I  have  one  little  taste  before  I " 

19 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Come,  dear.      There's   the   basin.      Bathe   quickly, 


now." 


Ruhannah  frowned  and  cast  a  tragic  glance  upon  the 
tin  washtub  on  the  kitchen  floor.  Presently  she  stole 
over,  tested  the  water  with  her  finger-tip,  found  it  not 
unreasonably  cold,  dropped  the  night-dress  from  her 
frail  shoulders,  and  stepped  into  the  tub  with  a  per 
functory  shiver — a  thin,  overgrown  child  of  fifteen,  with 
pipestem  limbs  and  every  rib  anatomically  apparent. 

Her  hair,  which  had  been  cropped  to  shoulder  length, 
seemed  to  turn  from  chestnut  to  bronze  fire,  gleaming 
and  crackling  under  the  comb  which  she  hastily  passed 
through  it  before  twisting  it  up. 

"Quickly  but  thoroughly,"  said  her  mother. 
"Hasten,  Rue." 

Ruhannah  seized  soap  and  sponge,  gasped,  shut  her 
grey  eyes  tightly,  and  fell  to  scrubbing  with  the  fury 
of  despair. 

"Don't  splash,  dear— 

"Did  you  warm  my  towel,  mother?" — blindly  stretch 
ing  out  one  thin  and  dripping  arm. 

Her  mother  wrapped  her  in  a  big  crash  towel  from 
head  to  foot. 

Later,  pulling  on  stockings  and  shoes  by  the  range, 
she  managed  to  achieve  a  buttered  biscuit  at  the  same 
time,  and  was  already  betraying  further  designs  upon 
another  one  when  her  mother  sent  her  to  set  the  table 
in  the  sitting-room. 

Thither  sauntered  Ruhannah,  partly  dressed,  still 
dressing. 

By  the  nickel-trimmed  stove  she  completed  her  toilet, 
then  hastily  laid  the  breakfast  cloth  and  arranged  the 
china  and  plated  tableware,  and  filled  the  water  pitcher. 

Her  father  came  in  on  his  crutches ;  she  hurried  from 

20 


BROOKHOLLOW 


the  table,  syrup  jug  in  one  hand,  cruet  in  the  other,  and 
lifted  her  face  to  be  kissed ;  then  she  brought  hot  plates, 
coffeepot,  and  platters,  and  seated  herself  at  the 
table  where  her  father  and  mother  were  waiting  in 
silence. 

When  she  was  seated  her  father  folded  his  large,  pal 
lid,  bony  hands ;  her  mother  clasped  hers  on  the  edge  of 
the  table,  bowing  her  head;  and  Ruhannah  imitated 
them.  Between  her  fingers  she  could  see  the  cat  under 
the  table,  and  she  watched  it  arch  its  back  and  gently 
rub  against  her  chair. 

"For  what  we  are  about  to  receive,  make  us  grateful, 
Eternal  Father.  This  day  we  should  go  hungry  except 
for  Thy  bounty.  Without  presuming  to  importune 
Thee,  may  we  ask  Thee  to  remember  all  who  awake 
hungry  on  this  winter  day.  .  .  .  Amen." 

Ruhannah  instantly  became  very  busy  with  her 
breakfast.  The  cat  beside  her  chair  purred  loudly  and 
rose  at  intervals  on  its  hind  legs  to  twitch  her  dress ;  and 
Ruhannah  occasionally  bestowed  alms  and  conversation 
upon  it. 

"Rue,"  said  her  mother,  "you  should  try  to  do  better 
with  your  algebra  this  week." 

"Yes,  I  do  really  mean  to." 

"Have  you  had  any  more  bad-conduct  marks?" 

"Yes,  mother." 

Her  father  lifted  his  mild,  dreamy  eyes  of  an  invalid. 
Her  mother  asked: 

"What  for?" 

"For  wasting  my  time  in  study  hour,"  said  the  girl 
truthfully. 

"Were  you  drawing?" 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Rue !    Again !    Why  do  you  persist  in  drawing  pic- 

21 


THE  DARK  STAR 


tures  in  your  copy  books  when  you  have  an  hour's  les 
son  in  drawing  every  week?  Besides,  you  may  draw 
pictures  at  home  whenever  you  wish." 

"I  don't  exactly  know  why,"  replied  the  girl  slowly. 
"It  just  happens  before  I  notice  what  I  am  doing.  .  .  . 
Of  course,"  she  explained,  "I  do  recollect  that  I 
oughtn't  to  be  drawing  in  study  hour.  But  that's  after 
I've  begun,  and  then  it  seems  a  pity  not  to  finish." 

Her  mother  looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband : 

"Speak  to  her  seriously,  Wilbour." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  looked  solemnly  at  his  long- 
legged  and  rapidly  growing  daughter,  whose  grey  eyes 
gazed  back  into  her  father's  sallow  visage. 

"Rue,"  he  said  in  his  colourless  voice,  "try  to  get  all 
you  can  out  of  your  school.  I  haven't  sufficient  means 
to  educate  you  in  drawing  and  in  similar  accomplish 
ments.  So  get  all  you  can  out  of  your  school.  Because, 
some  day,  you  will  have  to  help  yourself,  and  perhaps 
help  us  a  little." 

He  bent  his  head  with  a  detached  air  and  sat  gazing 
mildly  at  vacancy — already,  perhaps,  forgetting  what 
the  conversation  was  about. 

"Mother?" 

"What,  Rue?" 

"What  am  I  going  to  do  to  earn  my  living?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Do  you  mean  I  must  go  into  the  mill  like  every 
body  else?" 

"There  are  other  things.  Girls  work  at  many  things 
in  these  days." 

"What  kind  of  things?" 

"They  may  learn  to  keep  accounts,  help  in 
shops " 

"If  father  could  afford  it,  couldn't  I  learn  to  do 


BROOKHOLLOW 


something  more  interesting?  What  do  girls  work  at 
whose  fathers  can  afford  to  let  them  learn  how  to 
work?" 

"They  may  become  teachers,  learn  stenography  and 
typewriting ;  they  can,  of  course,  become  dressmakers ; 

they  can  nurse " 

"Mother!" 
"Yes?" 

"Could  I  choose  the  business  of  drawing  pictures  ?  I 
know  how!" 

"Dear,  I  don*t  believe  it  is  practical  to " 

"Couldn't  I  draw  pictures  for  books  and  magazines? 
Everybody  says  I  draw  very  nicely.  You  say  so,  too. 
Couldn't  I  earn  enough  money  to  live  on  and  to  take 
care  of  you  and  father?" 

Wilbour  Carew  looked  up  from  his  reverie: 
"To  learn  to  draw  correctly  and  with  taste,"  he  said 
in  his  gentle,  pedantic  voice,  "requires  a  special  training 
which  we  cannot  afford  to  give  you,  Ruhannah." 

"Must  I  wait  till  I'm  twenty-five  before  I  can  have 
my  money?"  she  asked  for  the  hundredth  time.  "I  do 
so  need  it  to  educate  myself.  Why  did  grandma  do 
such  a  thing,  mother?" 

"Your  grandmother  never  supposed  you  would  need 
the  money  until  you  were  a  grown  woman,  dear.  Your 
father  and  I  were  young,  vigorous,  full  of  energy ;  your 
father's  income  was  ample  for  us  then." 

"Have  I  got  to  marry  a  man  before  I  can  get  enough 
money  to  take  lessons  in  drawing  with?" 

Her  mother's  drawn  smile  was  not  very  genuine. 
When  a  child  asks  such  questions  no  mother  finds  it 
easy  to  smile. 

"If  you  marry,  dear,  it  is  not  likely  you'll  marry  in 
order  to  take  lessons  in  drawing.     Twenty-five  is  not 


THE  DARK  STAR 


old.     If  you  still  desire  to  study  art  you  will  be  able 
to  do  so." 

"Twenty-five!"  repeated  Rue,  aghast.  "I'll  be  an 
old  woman." 

"Many  begin  their  life's  work  at  an  older  age " 

"Mother!  I'd  rather  marry  somebody  and  begin  to 
study  art.  Oh,  don't  you  think  that  even  now  I  could 
support  myself  by  making  pictures  for  magazines? 
Don't  you,  mother  dear?" 

"Rue,  as  your  father  explained,  a  special  course  of 
instruction  is  necessary  before  one  can  become  an  ar 
tist— 

"But  I  do  draw  very  nicely !"  She  slipped  from  her 
chair,  ran  to  the  old  secretary  where  the  accumulated 
masterpieces  of  her  brief  career  were  treasured,  and 
brought  them  for  her  parents'  inspection,  as  she  had 
brought  them  many  times  before. 

Her  father  looked  at  them  listlessly;  he  did  not  un 
derstand  such  things.  Her  mother  took  them  one  by 
one  from  Ruhannah's  eager  hands  and  examined  these 
grimy  records  of  her  daughter's  childhood. 

There  were  drawings  of  every  description  in  pencil, 
in  crayon,  in  mussy  water-colours,  done  on  scraps  of 
paper  of  every  shape  and  size.  The  mother  knew  them 
all  by  heart,  every  single  one,  but  she  examined  each 
with  a  devotion  and  an  interest  forever  new. 

There  were  many  pictures  of  the  cat;  many  of  her 
parents,  too— odd,  shaky,  smeared  portraits  all  out  of 
proportion,  but  usually  recognisable. 

A  few  landscapes  varied  the  collection — a  view  or 
two  of  the  stone  bridge  opposite,  a  careful  drawing  of 
the  ruined  paper  mill.  But  the  majority  of  the  sub 
jects  were  purely  imaginary;  pictures  of  demons  and 
angels,  of  damsels  and  fairy  princes — paragons  of 


BROOKHOLLOW 


beauty — with  castles  on  adjacent  crags  and  swans 
adorning  convenient  ponds. 

Her  mother  rose  after  a  few  moments,  laid  aside  the 
pile  of  drawings,  went  to  the  kitchen  and  returned  with 
her  daughter's  schoolbooks  and  lunch  basket. 

"Rue,  you'll  be  late  again.  Get  on  your  rubbers 
immediately." 

The  child's  shabby  winter  coat  was  already  too  short 
in  skirt  and  sleeve,  and  could  be  lengthened  no  further. 
She  pulled  the  blue  toboggan  cap  over  her  head,  took  a 
hasty  osculatory  leave  of  her  father,  seized  books  and 
lunch  basket,  and  followed  her  mother  to  the  door. 

Below  the  house  the  Brookhollow  road  ran  south 
across  an  old  stone  bridge  and  around  a  hill  to  Gay- 
field,  half  a  mile  away. 

Rue,  drawing  on  her  woollen  gloves,  looked  up  at  her 
mother.  Her  lip  trembled  very  slightly.  She  said : 

"I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  if  I  couldn't  draw 
pictures.  .  .  .  When  I  draw  a  princess  I  mean  her  for 
myself.  ...  It  is  pleasant — to  pretend  to  live  with 
swans." 

She  opened  the  door,  paused  on  the  step ;  the  frosty 
breath  drifted  from  her  lips.  Then  she  looked  back 
over  her  shoulder;  her  mother  kissed  her,  held  her 
tightly  for  a  moment. 

"If  I'm  to  be  forbidden  to  draw  pictures,"  repeated 
the  girl,  "I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me.  Be 
cause  I  really  live  there — in  the  pictures  I  make." 

'We'll  talk  it  over  this  evening,  darling.  Don't  draw 
in  study  hour  any  more,  will  you?" 

"I'll  try  to  remember,  mother." 

When  the  spindle-limbed,  boyish  figure  had  sped  away 
beyond  sight,  Mrs.  Carew  shut  the  door,  drew  her  wool 

25 


THE  DARK  STAR 


shawl  closer,  and  returned  slowly  to  the  sitting-room. 
Her  husband,  deep  in  a  padded  rocking-chair  by  the 
window,  was  already  absorbed  in  the  volume  which  lay 
open  on  his  knees — the  life  of  the  Reverend  Adoniram 
Judson — one  of  the  world's  good  men.  Ruhannah  had 
named  her  cat  after  him. 

His  wife  seated  herself.  She  had  dishes  to  do,  two 
bedrooms,  preparations  for  noonday  dinner — the  usual 
and  unchangeable  routine.  She  turned  and  looked  out 
of  the  window  across  brown  fields  thinly  powdered  with 
snow.  Along  a  brawling,  wintry-dark  stream,  fringed 
with  grey  alders,  ran  the  Brookhollow  road.  Clumps 
of  pines  and  elms  bordered  it.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  see  except  a  distant  crow  in  a  ten-acre  lot,  walking 
solemnly  about  all  by  himself. 

.  .  .  Like  the  vultures  that  wandered  through  the 
compound  that  dreadful  day  in  May  ...  she  thought 
involuntarily. 

But  it  was  a  far  cry  from  Trebizond  to  Brookhollow. 
And  her  husband  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  after 
the  last  massacre,  when  every  convert  had  been  dragged 
out  and  killed  in  the  floating  shadow  of  the  Stars  and 
•Stripes,  languidly  brilliant  overhead. 

For  the  Sublime  Porte  and  the  Kurds  had  had  their 
usual  way  at  last;  there  was  nothing  left  of  the  Mis 
sion  ;  school  and  converts  were  gone ;  her  wounded  hus 
band,  her  baby,  and  herself  refugees  in  a  foreign  con 
sulate;  and  the  Turkish  Government  making  apologies 
with  its  fat  tongue  in  its  greasy  cheek. 

The  Koran  says:  "Woe  to  those  who  pray,  and  in 
their  prayers  are  careless." 

The  Koran  also  says :  "In  the  name  of  God  the  Com 
passionate,  the  Merciful:  What  thinkest  thou  of  him 
who  treateth  our  religion  as  a  lie?" 

26 


BROOKHOLLOW 


Mrs.  Carew  and  her  crippled  husband  knew,  now, 
what  the  Sublime  Porte  thought  about  it,  and  what 
was  the  opinion  of  the  Kurdish  cavalry  concerning 
missionaries  and  converts  who  treated  the  Moslem  re 
ligion  as  a  lie. 

She  looked  at  her  pallid  and  crippled  husband ;  he 
was  still  reading;  his  crutches  lay  beside  him  on  the 
floor.  She  turned  her  eyes  to  the  window.  Out  there 
the  solitary  crow  was  still  walking  busily  about  in  the 
frozen  pasture.  And  again  she  remembered  the  vultures 
that  hulked  and  waddled  amid  the  debris  of  the  burned 
Mission. 

Only  that  had  been  in  May ;  and  above  the  sunny 
silence  in  that  place  of  death  had  sounded  the  unbroken 
and  awful  humming  of  a  million  million  flies.  .  .  . 

And  so,  her  husband  being  now  hopelessly  broken 
and  useless,  they  had  come  back  with  their  child,  Ru- 
hannah,  to  their  home  in  Brookhollow. 

Here  they  had  lived  ever  since ;  here  her  grey  life 
was  passing;  here  her  daughter  was  already  emerging 
into  womanhood  amid  the  stark,  unlovely  environments 
of  a  country  crossroads,  arid  in  summer,  iron  naked 
in  winter,  with  no  horizon  except  the  Gayfield  hills,  no 
outlook  save  the  Brookhollow  road.  And  that  led  to 
the  mill. 

She  had  done  what  she  could — was  still  doing  it. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  save.  Her  child's  destiny 
seemed  to  be  fixed. 

Her  husband  corresponded  with  the  Board  of  Mis 
sions,  wrote  now  and  then  for  the  Christian  Pioneer, 
and  lived  on  the  scanty  pension  allowed  to  those  who, 
like  himself,  had  become  incapacitated  in  line  of  duty. 
There  was  no  other  income. 

27 


THE  DARK  STAR 


There  was,  however,  the  six  thousand  dollars  left  to 
Ruhannah  by  her  grandmother,  slowly  accumulating 
interest  in  the  Mohawk  Bank  at  Orangeville,  the  county 
seat,  and  not  to  be  withdrawn,  under  the  terms  of  the 
will,  until  the  day  Ruhannah  married  or  attained,  un 
married,  her  twenty-fifth  year. 

Neither  principal  nor  interest  of  this  legacy  was 
available  at  present.  Life  in  the  Carew  family  at 
Brookhollow  was  hard  sledding,  and  bid  fair  to  con 
tinue  so  indefinitely. 

The  life  of  Ruhannah's  father  was  passed  in  read 
ing  or  in  gazing  silently  from  the  window — a  tall,  sal 
low,  bearded  man  with  the  eyes  of  a  dreaming  martyr 
and  the  hands  of  an  invalid — who  still  saw  in  the 
winter  sky,  across  brown,  snow-powdered  fields,  the 
minarets  of  Trebizond. 

In  reading,  in  reflection,  in  dreaming,  in  spiritual 
acquiescence,  life  was  passing  in  sombre  shadows  for 
this  middle-aged  man  who  had  been  hopelessly  crushed 
in  Christ's  service;  and  who  had  never  regretted  that 
service,  never  complained,  never  doubted  the  wisdom 
and  the  mercy  of  his  Leader's  inscrutable  manoeuvres 
with  the  soldiers  who  enlist  to  follow  Him.  As  far  as 
that  is  concerned,  the  Reverend  Wilbour  Carew  had 
been  born  with  a  believing  mind ;  doubt  of  divine  good 
ness  in  Deity  was  impossible  for  him ;  doubt  of  human 
goodness  almost  as  difficult. 

Such  men  have  little  chance  in  a  brisk,  busy,  and 
jaunty  world;  but  they  prefer  it  should  be  that  way 
with  them.  And  of  these  few  believers  in  the  goodness 
of  God  and  man  are  our  fools  and  gentlemen  composed. 

On  that  dreadful  day,  the  Kurd  who  had  mangled 
him  so  frightfully  that  he  recovered  only  to  limp 

28 


BEOOKHOLLOW 


through  life  on  crutches  bent  over  him  and  shouted 
in  his  face : 

"Now,  you  Christian  dog,  before  I  cut  your  throat 
show  me  how  this  Christ  of  3'ours  can  be  a  god !" 

"Is  it  necessary,"  replied  the  missionary  faintly,  "to 
light  a  candle  in  order  to  show  a  man  the  midday  sun  ?" 

Which  was  possibly  what  saved  his  life,  and  the  lives 
of  his  wife  and  child.  Your  Moslem  adores  and  under 
stands  such  figurative  answers.  So  he  left  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Carew  lying  half  dead  in  the  blackened  doorway 
and  started  cheerfully  after  a  frightened  convert  pray 
ing  under  the  compound  wall. 


CHAPTER    III 

IN  EMBRYO 

A  CHILD  on  the  floor,  flat  on  her  stomach  in  the  red 
light  of  the  stove,  drawing  pictures;  her  mother  by 
the  shaded  lamp  mending  stockings;  her  father  read 
ing;  a  faint  odour  of  kerosene  from  the  glass  lamp  in 
the  room,  and  the  rattle  of  sleet  on  roof  and  window; 
this  was  one  of  her  childhood  memories  which  never 
faded  through  all  the  years  of  Ruhannah's  life. 

Of  her  waking  hours  she  preferred  that  hour  after 
supper  when,  lying  prone  on  the  worn  carpet,  with 
pencil  and  paper,  just  outside  the  lamp's  yellow  circle 
of  light,  her  youthful  imagination  kindled  and  caught 
fire. 

For  at  that  hour  the  magic  of  the  stove's  glowing 
eyes  transformed  the  sitting-room  chairs  to  furtive 
watchers  of  herself,  made  of  her  mother's  worktable  a 
sly  and  spidery  thing  on  legs,  crouching  in  ambush ;  be 
witched  the  ancient  cottage  piano  so  that  its  ivory  keys 
menaced  her  like  a  row  of  monstrous  teeth. 

She  adored  it  all.  The  tall  secretary  stared  at  her 
with  owlish  significance.  Through  that  neutral  veil 
where  lamplight  and  shadow  meet  upon  the  wall,  the 
engraved  portrait  of  a  famous  and  godly  missionary 
peered  down  at  her  out  of  altered  and  malicious  eyes ; 
the  claw-footed,  haircloth  sofa  was  a  stealthy  creature 
offering  to  entrap  her  with  wide,  inviting  arms ;  three 
folded  umbrellas  leaned  over  the  edge  of  their  shadowy 
stand,  looking  down  at  her  like  scrawny  and  baleful 

30 


IN  EMBRYO 


birds,  ready  to  peck  at  her  with  crooked  handles.  And 
as  for  Adoniram,  her  lank  black  cat,  the  child's  restless 
creative  fancy  was  ever  transforming  him  from  goblin 
into  warlock,  from  hydra  to  hippogriff,  until  the  ear 
nestness  of  pretence  sent  agreeable  shivers  down  her 
back,  and  she  edged  a  trifle  nearer  to  her  mother. 

But  when  pretence  became  a  bit  too  real  and  too 
grotesque  she  had  always  a  perfect  antidote.  It  was 
merely  necessary  to  make  a  quick  picture  of  an  angel 
or  two,  a  fairy  prince,  a  swan,  and  she  felt  herself  in 
their  company,  and  delightfully  protected. 

There  was  a  night  when  the  flowing  roar  of  the  gale 
outside  filled  the  lamplit  silence;  when  the  snow  was 
drifting  level  with  the  window  sills ;  when  Adoniram, 
unable  to  prowl  abroad,  lay  curled  up  tight  and  sound 
asleep  beside  her  where  she  sat  on  the  carpet  in  the 
stove  radiance.  Wearied  of  drawing  castles  and  swans, 
she  had  been  listening  to  her  father  reading  passages 
aloud  from  the  book  on  his  knees  to  her  mother  who 
was  sewing  by  the  lamp. 

Presently  he  continued  his  reading: 

"I  asked  Alaro  the  angel:  'Which  place  is  this,  and 
which  people  are  these?' 

"And  he  answered :  'This  place  is  the  star-track ;  and 
these  are  they  who  in  the  world  offered  no  prayers 
and  chanted  no  liturgies.  Through  other  works  they 
have  attained  felicity.' ' 

Her  mother  nodded,  continuing  to  sew.  Ruhannah 
considered  what  her  father  had  read,  then: 

"Father?" 

"Yes—  He  looked  down  at  her  absently. 

"What  were  you  reading?" 

"A  quotation  from  the  Sacred  Anthology." 

31 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Isn't  prayer  really  necessary?" 

Her  mother  said: 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Then  how  did  those  people  who  offered  no  prayers 
go  to  Heaven?" 

Her  father  said : 

"Eternal  life  is  not  attained  by  praise  or  prayer 
alone,  Ruhannah.  Those  things  which  alone  justify 
prayer  are  also  necessary." 

"What  are  they?" 

"What  we  really  thmk  and  what  we  do — both  only  in 
Christ's  name.  Without  these  nothing  else  counts  very 
much — neither  form  nor  convention  nor  those  indi 
vidual  garments  called  creed  and  denomination,  which 
belief  usually  wears  throughout  the  world." 

Her  mother,  sewing,  glanced  gravely  down  at  her 
daughter : 

"Your  father  is  very  tolerant  of  what  other  people 
believe — as  long  as  they  really  do  believe.  Your  father 
thinks  that  Christ  would  have  found  friends  in  Buddha 
and  Mahomet." 

"Do  such  people  go  to  Heaven?"  asked  Ruhannah, 
astonished. 

"Listen,"  said  her  father,  reading  again: 

"  'I  came  to  a  place  and  I  saw  the  souls  of  the  liberal, 
adorned  above  all  other  souls  in  splendour.  And  it 
seemed  to  me  sublime. 

"  'I  saw  the  souls  of  the  truthful  who  walked  in  lofty 
splendour.  And  it  seemed  to  me  sublime. 

"  'I  saw  the  souls  of  teachers  and  inquirers ;  I  saw 
the  friendly  souls  of  interceders  and  peacemakers ;  and 
these  walked  brilliantly  in  the  light.  And  it  seemed 
to  me  sublime 

He  turned  to  his  wife : 

32 


IN  EMBRYO 


"To  see  and  know  is  sublime.  We  know,  Mary ;  and 
Ruhannah  is  intelligent.  But  in  spite  of  her  faith  in 
what  she  has  learned  from  us,  like  us  she  must  one  day 
travel  the  common  way,  seeking  for  herself  the  reasons 
and  the  evidences  of  immortality." 

"Perhaps  her  faith,  Wilbour— 

"Perhaps.  But  with  the  intelligent,  faith,  which  is 
emotional,  usually  follows  belief;  and  belief  comes  only 
from  reasoning.  I  think  that  Ruhannah  is  destined 
to  travel  the  way  of  all  intelligence  when  she  is  ready 
to  think  for  herself." 

"I  am  ready  now,"  said  the  girl.  "I  have  faith  in 
our  Lord  Jesus,  and  in  my  father  and  mother." 

Her  father  looked  at  her : 

"It  is  good  building  material.  Some  day,  God  will 
ing,  you  shall  build  a  very  lofty  temple  with  it.  But 
the  foundation  of  the  temple  must  first  be  certain.  In 
telligence  ultimately  requires  reasons  for  belief.  You 
will  have  to  seek  them  for  yourself,  Ruhannah.  Then, 
on  them  build  your  shrine  of  faith;  and  nothing  shall 
shake  it  down." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"And  I  cannot  explain.  Only  this ;  as  you  grow 
older,  all  around  you  in  the  world  you  will  become  aware 
of  people,  countless  millions  and  millions  of  people,  ask 
ing  themselves — ready  with  the  slightest  encourage 
ment,  or  without  it,  to  ask  you  the  question  which  is 
the  most  vital  of  all  questions  to  them.  And  whatever 
way  it  is  answered  always  they  ask  for  evidence.  You, 
too,  will  one  day  ask  for  evidence.  All  the  world  asks 
for  it.  But  few  recognise  it  as  evidence  when  it  is 
offered." 

He  closed  his  book  and  dropped  a  heavy  hand 
upon  it. 

33 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Amid  the  myriad  pursuits  and  interests  and  trades 
and  professions  of  the  human  race,  amid  their  multi 
tudinous  aspirations,  perplexities,  doubts,  passions,  en 
deavours,  deep  within  every  intelligent  man  remains  one 
dominant  desire,  one  persistent  question  to  be  answered 
if  possible." 

"What  desire,  father?" 

"The  universal  desire  for  another  chance — for  im 
mortality.  Man's  never-ending  demand  for  evidence  of 
an  immortality  which  shall  terminate  for  him  the  most 
tremendous  of  all  uncertainties,  which  shall  solve  for 
him  the  most  vital  of  all  questions :  What  is  to  become 
of  him  after  physical  death?  Is  he  to  live  again?  Is 
he  to  see  once  more  those  whom  he  loved  the  best?" 

Ruhannah  sat  thinking  in  the  red  stove  light,  cross- 
legged,  her  slim  ankles  clasped  in  either  hand. 

"But  our  souls  are  immortal,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Yes." 

"Our  Lord  Jesus  has  said  it." 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  should  anybody  not  believe  it?" 

"Try  to  believe  it  always.  Particularly  after  your 
mother  and  I  are  no  longer  here,  try  to  believe  it.  ... 
You  are  unusually  intelligent;  and  if  some  day  your 
intelligence  discovers  that  it  requires  evidence  for  be 
lief  seek  for  that  evidence.  It  is  obtainable.  Try  to 
recognise  it  when  you  encounter  it.  ...  Only,  in  any 
event,  remember  this :  never  alter  your  early  faith,  never 
destroy  your  childhood's  belief  until  evidence  to  prove 
the  contrary  convinces  you." 

"No.  .  .  .  There  is  no  such  evidence,  is  there, 
father?" 

"I  know  of  none." 

"Then,"  said  the  girl  calmly,  "I  shall  take  Christ's 


IN  EMBRYO 


evidence  that  I  shall  live  again  if  I  do  no  evil.   .   .    . 
Father?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  there  any  evidence  that  Adoniram  has  no  soul?" 

"I  know  of  none." 

"Is  there  any  that  he  has  a  soul?" 

"Yes,  I  think  there  is." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Not  entirely." 

"I  wonder,"  mused  the  girl,  looking  gravely  at  the 
sleeping  cat. 

It  was  the  first  serious  doubt  that  Ruhannah  had 
ever  entertained  in  her  brief  career. 

That  night  she  dreamed  of  the  Yellow  Devil  in  Herr 
Wilner's  box,  and,  awaking,  remembered  her  dream. 
It  seemed  odd,  too,  because  she  had  not  even  thought 
of  the  Yellow  Devil  for  over  a  year. 

But  the  menacing  Mongol  figure  seemed  bound  to 
intrude  into  her  life  once  more  and  demand  her  atten 
tion  as  though  resentful  of  long  oblivion  and  neglect; 
for,  a  week  later,  an  old  missionary  from  Indo-China 
— a  native  Chinese — who  had  lectured  at  the  Baptist 
Church  in  Gayfield  the  evening  previous,  came  to  pay 
his  respects  to  the  Reverend  Wilbour  Carew.  And  Rue 
had  taken  the  Yellow  Devil  from  the  olive-wood  box 
that  day  and  was  busily  making  a  pencil  drawing  of  it. 

At  sight  of  the  figure  the  native  missionary's  narrow 
almond  eyes  opened  extremely  wide,  and  he  leaned  on 
the  table  and  regarded  the  bronze  demon  very  intently. 

Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  and  adjusted  to  his 
button  nose  a  pair  of  large,  horn  spectacles ;  and  he 
carefully  examined  the  Chinese  characters  engraved  on 
the  base  of  the  ancient  bronze,  following  them  slowly 
with  a  yellow  and  clawlike  forefinger. 

35 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Can  you  read  what  is  written  there?"  inquired  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Carew. 

"Yes,  brother.  This  is  what  is  written:  fil  am  Erlik, 
Ruler  of  Chaos  and  of  All  that  Was.  The  old  order 
passes  when  I  arrive.  I  bring  confusion  among  the 
peoples ;  I  hurl  down  emperors ;  kingdoms  crumble  where 
I  pass ;  the  world  begins  to  rock  and  tip,  spilling  na 
tions  into  outer  darkness.  When  there  are  no  more 
kingdoms  and  no  more  kings ;  no  more  empires  and  no 
emperors ;  and  when  only  the  humble  till,  the  blameless 
sow,  the  pure  reap ;  and  when  only  the  teachers  teach 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Tree,  and  when  the  Thinker  sits 
unstirring  under  the  high  stars,  then,  from  the  dark 
edges  of  the  world  I  let  go  my  grasp  and  drop  into 
those  immeasurable  deeps  from  which  I  came — I,  Erlik, 
Ruler  of  All  that  Was.'  " 

After  a  silence  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  asked 
whether  the  figure  was  a  very  old  one. 

"It  is  before  the  period  called  'Han' — a  dynasty 
during  which  the  Mongols  were  a  mighty  people.  This 
inscription  is  Mongol.  Erlik  was  the  Yellow  Devil  of 
the  Mongols." 

"Not  a  heathen  god,  then?" 

"No,  a  heathen  devil.     Their  Prince  of  Darkness." 

Ruhannah,  pencil  in  hand,  looked  curiously  at  this 
heathen  Prince  of  Darkness,  arrived  out  of  the  dark 
ages  to  sit  to  her  for  his  scowling  portrait. 

"I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  America,"  she  said, 
partly  to  herself. 

The  native  missionary  smiled,  picked  up  the  Yellow 
Devil,  shook  the  figure,  listening. 

"There  is  something  inside,"  he  said;  "perhaps 
jewels.  If  you  drilled  a  hole  in  him  you  could  find  out." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  nodded  absently: 

36 


IN  EMBRYO 


"Yes ;  it  might  be  worth  while,"  he  said. 

"If  there  is  a  jewel,"  repeated  the  missionary,  "you 
had  better  take  it,  then  cast  away  the  figure.  Erlik 
brings  disaster  to  the  land  where  his  image  is  set  up." 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  smiled  at  his  Chinese  and 
Christian  confrere's  ineradicable  vein  of  superstition. 


CHAPTER    IV 
THE  TRODDEN  WAY 

THERE  came  the  indeterminate  year  when  Ruhannah 
finished  school  and  there  was  no  money  available  to  send 
her  elsewhere  for  further  embellishment,  no  farther 
horizon  than  the  sky  over  the  Gayfield  hills,  no  other 
perspective  than  the  main  street  of  Gayfield  with  the 
knitting  mill  at  the  end  of  it. 

So  into  Gayfield  Mill  the  girl  walked,  and  found  a 
place  immediately  among  the  unskilled.  And  her  career 
appeared  to  be  predetermined  now,  and  her  destiny  a 
simple  one — to  work,  to  share  the  toil  and  the  gaieties 
of  Gayfield  with  the  majority  of  the  other  girls  she 
knew;  to  marry,  ultimately,  some  boy,  some  clerk  in 
one  of  the  Gayfield  stores,  some  farmer  lad,  perhaps, 
possibly  a  school  teacher  or  a  local  lawyer  or  physician, 
or  possibly  the  head  of  some  department  in  the  mill, 
or  maybe  a  minister — she  was  sufficiently  well  bred  and 
educated  for  any  one  of  these. 

The  winter  of  her  seventeenth  year  found  her  still 
very  much  a  child  at  heart,  physically  backward,  a  late 
adolescent,  a  little  shy,  inclined  to  silences,  romantic, 
sensitive  to  all  beauty,  and  passionately  expressing 
herself  only  when  curled  up  by  the  stove  with  her  pen 
cil  and  the  red  light  of  the  coals  falling  athwart  the 
slim  hand  that  guided  it. 

She  went  sometimes  to  village  parties,  learned  very 
easily  to  dance,  had  no  preferences  among  the  youths 

38 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY 


of  Gayfield,  no  romances.  For  that  matter,  while  she 
was  liked  and  even  furtively  admired,  her  slight  shy 
ness,  reticence,  and  a  vague,  indefinite  something  about 
her  seemed  to  discourage  familiar  rustic  gallantry. 
Also,  she  was  as  thin  and  awkward  as  an  overgrown  lad, 
not  thought  to  be  pretty,  known  to  be  poor.  But  for 
all  that  more  than  one  young  man  was  vaguely  haunted 
at  intervals  by  some  memory  of  her  grey  eyes  and  the 
peculiar  sweetness  of  her  mouth,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  several  freckles  on  the  delicate  bridge  of  her 
nose  and  several  more  on  her  sun-tanned  cheeks. 

She  had  an  agreeable  time  that  winter,  enchanted 
to  learn  dancing,  happy  at  "showers"  and  parties,  at 
sleigh  rides  and  "chicken  suppers,"  and  the  various  spe 
cies  of  village  gaiety  which  ranged  from  moving  pic 
tures  every  Thursday  and  Saturday  nights  to  church 
entertainments,  amateur  theatricals  at  the  town  hall, 
and  lectures  under  the  auspices  of  the  aristocratic 
D.  O.  F. — Daughters  of  the  Old  Frontier. 

But  she  never  saw  any  boy  she  preferred  to  any 
other,  never  was  conscious  of  being  preferred,  except 
ing  once — and  she  was  not  quite  certain  about  that. 

It  was  old  Dick  Neeland's  son,  Jim — vaguely  under 
stood  to  have  been  for  several  years  in  Paris  studying 
art — and  who  now  turned  up  in  Gayfield  during  Christ 
mas  week. 

Ruhannah  remembered  seeing  him  on  several  occa 
sions  when  she  was  a  little  child.  He  was  usually 
tramping  across  country  with  his  sturdy  father,  Dick 
Neeland  of  Neeland's  Mills — an  odd,  picturesque  pair 
with  their  setter  dogs  and  burnished  guns,  and  old 
Dick's  face  as  red  as  a  wrinkled  winter  apple,  and  his 
hair  snow-white. 

There  was  six  years'  difference  between  their  ages, 

39 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Jim  Neeland's  and  hers,  and  she  had  always  consid 
ered  him  a  grown  and  formidable  man  in  those  days. 
But  that  winter,  when  somebody  at  the  movies  pointed 
him  out  to  her,  she  was  surprised  to  find  him  no  older 
than  the  other  youths  she  skated  with  and  danced  with. 

Afterward,  at  a  noisy  village  party,  she  saw  him 
dancing  with  every  girl  in  town,  and  the  drop  of  Irish 
blood  in  this  handsome,  careless  young  fellow  estab 
lished  him  at  once  as  a  fascinating  favourite. 

Rue  became  quite  tremulous  over  the  prospect  of 
dancing  with  him.  Presently  her  turn  came;  she  rose 
with  a  sudden  odd  loss  of  self-possession  as  he  was  pre 
sented,  stood  dumb,  shy,  unresponsive,  suffered  him  to 
lead  her  out,  became  slowly  conscious  that  he  danced 
rather  badly.  But  awe  of  him  persisted  even  when  he 
trod  on  her  slender  foot. 

He  brought  her  an  ice  afterward,  and  seated  himself 
beside  her. 

"I'm  a  clumsy  dancer,"  he  said.  "How  many  times 
did  I  spike  you?" 

She  flushed  and  would  have  found  a  pleasant  word 
to  reassure  him,  but  discovered  nothing  to  say,  it  be 
ing  perfectly  patent  to  them  both  that  she  had  retired 
from  the  floor  with  a  slight  limp. 

"I'm  a  steam  roller,"  he  repeated  carelessly.  "But 
you  dance  very  well,  don't  you?" 

"I  have  only  learned  to  dance  this  winter." 

"I  thought  you  an  expert.     Do  you  live  here?" 

"Yes.   ...  I  mean  I  live  at  Brookhollow." 

"Funny.  I  don't  remember  you.  Besides,  I  don't 
know  your  name — people  mumble  so  when  they  intro 
duce  a  man." 

"I'm  Ruhannah  Carew." 

"Carew,"  he  repeated,  while  a  crease  came  between 
40 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY 


his  eyebrows.  "Of  Brookhollow Oh,  I  know! 

Your  father  is  the  retired  missionary — red  house  facing 
the  bridge." 

"Yes." 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  taking  another  look  at  her; 
"you're  the  little  girl  daddy  and  I  used  to  see  across 
the  fields  when  we  were  shooting  woodcock  in  the 
willows." 

"I  remember  you,"  she  said. 

"I  remember  you!" 

She  coloured  gratefully. 

"Because,"  he  added,  "dad  and  I  were  always  afraid 
you'd  wander  into  range  and  we'd  pepper  you  from 
the  bushes.  You've  grown  a  lot,  haven't  you?"  He 
had  a  nice,  direct  smile  though  his  speech  and  man 
ners  were  a  trifle  breezy,  confident,  and  sans  facon. 
But  he  wras  at  that  age — which  succeeds  the  age  of 
bumptiousness — with  life  and  career  before  him,  at 
tainment,  realisation,  success,  everything  the  mystery 
of  life  holds  for  a  young  man  who  has  just  flung  open 
the  gates  and  who  takes  the  magic  road  to  the  future 
with  a  stride  instead  of  his  accustomed  pace. 

He  was  already  a  man  with  a  profession,  and  meant 
that  she  should  become  aware  of  it. 

Later  in  the  evening  somebody  told  her  what  a  per 
sonage  he  had  become,  and  she  became  even  more  deeply 
thrilled,  impressed,  and  tremulously  desirous  that  he 
should  seek  her  out  again,  not  venturing  to  seek  him, 
not  dreaming  of  encouraging  him  to  notice  her  by 
glance  or  attitude — not  even  knowing,  as  yet,  how  to 
do  such  things.  She  thought  he  had  already  forgotten 
her  existence. 

But  that  this  thin,  freckled  young  thing  with  grey 

41 


THE  DARK  STAR 


eyes  ought  to  learn  how  much  of  a  man  he  was  remained 
somewhere  in  the  back  of  Neeland's  head ;  and  when  he 
heard  his  hostess  say  that  somebody  would  have  to 
see  Rue  Carew  home,  he  offered  to  do  it.  And  pres 
ently  went  over  and  asked  the  girl  if  he  might — not  too 
patronisingly. 

In  the  cutter,  under  fur,  with  the  moonlight  electri 
cally  brilliant  and  the  world  buried  in  white,  she  ven 
tured  to  speak  of  his  art,  timidly,  as  in  the  presence  of 
the  very  great. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "I  studied  in  Paris.  Wish  I 
were  back  there.  But  I've  got  to  draw  for  magazines 
and  illustrated  papers ;  got  to  make  a  living,  you  see. 
I  teach  at  the  Art  League,  too." 

"How  happy  you  must  be  in  your  career !"  she  said, 
devoutly  meaning  it,  knowing  no  better  than  to  say 
it. 

"It's  a  business,"  he  corrected  her,  kindly. 

"But — yes — but  it  is  art,  too." 

"Oh,  art !"  he  laughed.  It  was  the  fashion  that  year 
to  shrug  when  art  was  mentioned — reaction  from  too 
much  gabble. 

"We  don't  busy  ourselves  with  art ;  we  busy  ourselves 
with  business.  When  they  use  my  stuff  I  feel  I'm  get 
ting  on.  You  see,"  he  admitted  with  reluctant  hon 
esty,  "I'm  young  at  it  yet — I  haven't  had  very  much 
of  my  stuff  in  magazines  yet." 

After  a  silence,  cursed  by  an  instinctive  truthful 
ness  which  always  spoiled  any  little  plan  to  swagger : 

"I've  had  several — well,  about  a  dozen  pictures  re 
produced." 

One  picture  accepted  by  any  magazine  would  have 
awed  her  sufficiently.  The  mere  fact  that  he  was  an 
artist  had  been  enough  to  impress  her. 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY 


"Do  you  care  for  that  sort  of  thing — drawing,  paint 
ing,  I  mean?"  he  inquired  kindly. 

She  drew  a  quick  breath,  steadied  her  voice,  and  said 
she  did. 

"Perhaps  you  may  turn  out  stuff  yourself  some 
day." 

She  scarcely  knew  how  to  take  the  word  "stuff." 
Vaguely  she  surmised  it  to  be  professional  vernacular. 

She  admitted  shyly  that  she  cared  for  nothing  so 
much  as  drawing,  that  she  longed  for  instruction,  but 
that  such  a  dream  was  hopeless. 

At  first  he  did  not  comprehend  that  poverty  barred 
the  way  to  her;  he  urged  her  to  cultivate  her  talent, 
bestowed  advice  concerning  the  Art  League,  boarding 
houses,  studios,  ways,  means,  and  ends,  until  she  felt 
obliged  to  tell  him  how  far  beyond  her  means  such 
magic  splendours  lay. 

He  remained  silent,  sorry  for  her,  thinking  also  that 
the  chances  were  against  her  having  any  particular 
talent,  consoling  a  heart  that  was  unusually  sympa 
thetic  and  tender  with  the  conclusion  that  this  girl 
would  be  happier  here  in  Brookhollow  than  scratching 
around  the  purlieus  of  New  York  to  make  both  ends 
meet. 

"It's  a  tough  deal,"  he  remarked  abruptly.  " — I 
mean  this  art  stuff.  You  work  like  the  dickens  and  kick 
your  heels  in  ante-rooms.  If  they  take  your  stuff  they 
send  you  back  to  alter  it  or  redraw  it.  /  don't  know- 
how  anybody  makes  a  living  at  it — in  the  beginning." 

"Don't  your 

"I?  No."  He  reddened;  but  she  could  not  notice 
it  in  the  moonlight.  "No,"  he  repeated;  "I  have  an 
allowance  from  my  father.  I'm  new  at  it  yet." 

"Couldn't  a  man — a  girl — support  herself  by  draw- 

43 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ing  pictures  for  magazines?"  she  inquired  tremulously. 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  there  are  some  who  have  arrived 
— and  they  manage  to  get  on.  Some  even  make  wads, 
you  know." 

"W-wads?"  she  repeated,  mystified. 

"I  mean  a  lot  of  money.  There's  that  girl  on  the 
Star,  Jean  Throssel,  who  makes  all  kinds  of  wealth, 
they  say,  out  of  her  spidery,  filmy  girls  in  ringlets  and 
cheesecloth  dinner  gowns." 

"Oh !" 

"Yes,  Jean  Throssel,  and  that  Waythorne  girl,  Be 
linda  Waythorne,  you  know — does  all  that  stuff  for 
The  Lookmg  Glass — futurist  graft,  no  mouths  on  her 
people — she  makes  hers,  I  understand." 

It  was  rather  difficult  for  Rue  to  follow  him  amid 
the  vernacular  mazes. 

"Then,  of  course,"  he  continued,  "men  like  Alexander 
Fairless  and  Philip  Lightwood  who  imitates  him,  make 
fortunes  out  of  their  drawing.  I  could  name  a  dozen, 
perhaps.  But  the  rest — hard  sledding,  Miss  Carew!" 

"Is  it  very  hard?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  I'd  do  if  dad 
didn't  back  me  as  his  fancy." 

"A  father  ought  to,  if  he  can  afford  it." 

"Oh,  I'll  pay  my  way  some  day.  It's  in  me.  I  feel 
it;  I  know  it.  I'll  make  plenty  of  money,"  he  assured 
her  confidently. 

"I'm  sure  you  will." 

'"Thank  you,"  he  smiled.  "My  friends  tell  me  I've 
got  it  in  me.  I  have  one  friend  in  particular — the  Prin 
cess  Mistchenka — who  has  all  kinds  of  confidence  in  my 
future.  When  I'm  blue  she  bolsters  me  up.  She's  quite 
wonderful.  I  owe  her  a  lot  for  asking  me  to  her  Sunday 
nights  and  for  giving  me  her  friendship." 

44 


THE  TRODDEN  WAY 


"A — a  princess?"  whispered  the  girl,  who  had  drawn 
pictures  of  thousands  but  was  a  little  startled  to  realise 
that  such  fabled  creatures  really  exist. 

"Is  she  very  beautiful?"  she  added. 

"She's  tremendously  pretty." 

"Her — clothes  are  very  beautiful,  I  suppose,"  ven 
tured  Rue. 

"Well — they're  very — smart.  Everything  about  her 
is  smart.  Her  Sunday  night  suppers  are  wonderful. 
You  meet  people  who  do  things — all  sorts — everybody 
who  is  somebody." 

He  turned  to  her  frankly: 

"I  think  myself  very  lucky  that  the  Princess  Mist- 
chenka  should  be  my  friend,  because,  honestly,  Miss 
Carew,  I  don't  see  what  there  is  in  me  to  interest  such  a 
woman." 

Rue  thought  she  could  see,  but  remained  silent. 

"If  I  had  my  way,"  said  Neeland,  a  few  moments 
later,  "I'd  drop  illustrating  and  paint  battle  scenes. 
But  it  wouldn't  pay,  you  see." 

"Couldn't  you  support  yourself  by  painting  bat 
tles?" 

"Not   yet,"  he   said   honestly.      "Of  course   I  have 

hopes — intentions— "  he  laughed,  drew  his  reins  ;  the 

silvery  chimes  clashed  and  jingled  and  flashed  in  the 
moonlight;  they  had  arrived. 

At  the  door  he  said : 

"I  hope  some  day  you'll  have  a  chance  to  take  lessons. 
Thank  you  for  dancing  with  me.  ...  If  you  ever  do 
come  to  New  York  to  study,  I  hope  you'll  let  me 
know." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  will." 

He  was  halfway  to  his  sleigh,  looked  back,  saw  her 
looking  back  as  she  entered  the  lighted  doorway. 

45 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Good  night,  Rue,"  he  said  impulsively,  warmly  sorry 
for  her. 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

The  drop  of  Irish  blood  in  him  prompted  him  to  go 
back  to  where  she  stood  framed  in  the  lighted  doorway. 
And  the  same  drop  was  no  doubt  responsible  for  his 
taking  her  by  the  waist  and  tilting  back  her  head  in  its 
fur  hood  and  kissing  her  soft,  warm  lips. 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  a  flushed,  bewildered  sort  of 
way,  not  resisting;  but  his  eyes  were  so  gay  and  mis 
chievous,  and  his  quick  smile  so  engaging  that  a  breath 
less,  uncertain  smile  began  to  edge  her  lips;  and  it  re 
mained  stamped  there,  stiffening  even  after  he  had 
jumped  into  his  cutter  and  had  driven  away,  jingling 
joyously  out  into  the  dazzling  moonshine. 

In  bed,  the  window  open,  and  the  covers  pulled  to  her 
chin,  Rue  lay  wakeful,  living  over  again  the  pleasures 
of  the  evening;  and  Neeland's  face  was  always  before 
her  open  eyes,  and  his  pleasant  voice  seemed  to  be 
sounding  in  her  ears.  As  for  the  kiss,  it  did  not  trouble 
her.  Girls  she  went  with  were  not  infrequently  so  sa 
luted  by  boys.  That,  being  her  own  first  experience, 
was  important  only  in  that  degree.  And  she  shyly 
thought  the  experience  agreeable.  And,  as  she  recalled, 
revived,  and  considered  all  that  Neeland  had  said,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  this  young  man  led  an  enchanted 
life  and  that  such  as  he  were  indeed  companions  fit 
for  princesses. 

"Princess  Mistchenka,"  she  repeated  aloud  to  her 
self.  And  somehow  it  sounded  vaguely  familiar  to  the 
girl,  as  though  somewhere,  long  ago,  she  had  heard 
another  voice  pronounce  the  name. 


CHAPTER    V 
EX  MACHINA 

AFTER  she  had  become  accustomed  to  the  smell  of 
rancid  oil  and  dyestuffs  and  the  interminable  racket  of 
machinery  she  did  not  find  her  work  at  the  knitting 
mill  disagreeable.  It  was  like  any  work,  she  imagined, 
an  uninteresting  task  which  had  to  be  done. 

The  majority  of  the  girls  and  young  men  of  the 
village  worked  there  in  various  capacities ;  wages  were 
fair,  salaries  better,  union  regulations  prevailed.  There 
was  nothing  to  complain  of. 

And  nothing  to  expect  except  possible  increase  in 
wages,  holidays,  and  a  disquieting  chance  of  getting 
caught  in  the  machinery,  which  familiarity  soon  dis 
counted. 

As  for  the  social  status  of  the  mill  workers,  the  mill 
was  Gayfield;  and  Gayfield  was  a  village  where  the 
simpler  traditions  of  the  Republic  still  survived ;  where 
there  existed  no  invidious  distinction  in  vocations;  a 
typical  old-time  community  harbouring  the  remains  of 
a  Grand  Army  Post  and  too  many  churches  of  too 
many  denominations ;  where  the  chance  metropolitan 
stranger  was  systematically  "done";  where  distrust  of 
all  cities  and  desire  to  live  in  them  was  equalled  only  by 
a  passion  for  moving  pictures  and  automobiles ;  where 
the  school  trustees  used  double  negatives  and  traced 
their  ancestry  to  Colonial  considerables — who,  how 
ever,  had  signed  their  names  in  "lower  case"  or  with  a 
Maltese  cross — the  world  in  miniature,  with  its  due 

47 


THE  DARK  STAR 


proportion  of  petty  graft,  petty  squabbles,  envy,  kind 
ness,  jealousy,  generosity,  laziness,  ambition,  stupidity, 
intelligence,  honesty,  hypocrisy,  hatred,  affection,  bad 
ness  and  goodness,  as  standardised  by  the  code  estab 
lished  according  to  folk-ways  on  earth — in  brief,  a  per 
fectly  human  community  composed  of  the  usual  ingredi 
ents,  worthy  and  unworthy — that  was  Gay  field,  Mo 
hawk  County,  New  York. 

Before  spring  came — before  the  first  robin  appeared, 
and  while  icy  roads  still  lay  icy  under  sunlit  pools  of 
snow-water — a  whole  winter  indoors,  and  a  sedentary 
one,  had  changed  the  smoothly  tanned  and  slightly 
freckled  cheeks  of  Rue  Carew  to  a  thinner  and  paler 
oval.  Under  her  transparent  skin  a  tea-rose  pink 
came  and  went ;  under  her  grey  eyes  lay  bluish  shadows. 
Also,  floating  particles  of  dust,  fleecy  and  microscopic 
motes  of  cotton  and  wool  filling  the  air  in  the  room 
where  Ruhannah  worked,  had  begun  to  irritate  her 
throat  and  bronchial  tubes;  and  the  girl  developed  an 
intermittent  cough. 

When  the  first  bluebird  arrived  in  Gayfield  the  cough 
was  no  longer  intermittent ;  and  her  mother  sent  her 
to  the  village  doctor.  So  Rue  Carew  was  transferred 
to  the  box  factory  adjoining,  in  which  the  mill  made 
its  own  paper  boxes,  where  young  women  sat  all  day 
at  intelligent  machines  and  fed  them  with  squares  of 
pasteboard  and  strips  of  gilt  paper ;  and  the  intelligent 
and  grateful  machines  responded  by  turning  out  hun 
dreds  and  hundreds  of  complete  boxes,  all  neatly  gilded, 
pasted,  and  labelled.  And  after  a  little  while  Ruhan 
nah  was  able  to  nourish  one  of  these  obliging  and  re 
sponsive  machines.  And  by  July  her  cough  had  left 
her,  and  two  delicate  freckles  adorned  the  'bridge  of 
her  nose. 

48 


EX  MACHINA 


The  half-mile  walk  from  and  to  Brookhollow  twice 
a  day  was  keeping-  her  from  rapid  physical  degenera 
tion.  Yet,  like  all  northern  American  summers,  the 
weather  became  fearfully  hot  in  July  and  August,  and 
the  half-mile  even  in  early  morning  and  at  six  in  the 
evening  left  her  listless,  nervously  dreading  the  great 
concrete-lined  room,  the  reek  of  glue  and  oil,  the 
sweaty  propinquity  of  her  neighbours,  and  the  monot 
onous  appetite  of  the  sprawling  machine  which  she  fed 
all  day  long  with  pasteboard  squares. 

She  went  to  her  work  in  early  morning,  bareheaded, 
in  a  limp  pink  dress  very  much  open  at  the  throat, 
which  happened  to  be  the  merciful  mode  of  the  moment 
— a  slender,  sweet-lipped  thing,  beginning  to  move  with 
grace  now — and  her  chestnut  hair  burned  gold-pale  by 
the  sun. 

There  came  that  movable  holiday  in  August,  when 
the  annual  shutdown  for  repairs  closed  the  mill  and 
box  factory  during  forty-eight  hours — a  matter  of 
prescribing  oil  and  new  bearings  for  the  overfed  ma 
chines  so  that  their  digestions  should  remain  unim 
paired  and  their  dispositions  amiable. 

It  was  a  hot  August  morning,  intensely  blue  and 
still,  with  that  slow,  subtle  concentration  of  suspended 
power  in  the  sky,  ominous  of  thunder  brooding  some 
where  beyond  the  western  edges  of  the  world. 

Ruhannah  aided  her  mother  with  the  housework, 
picked  peas  and  a  squash  and  a  saucer  full  of  yellow 
pansies  in  the  weedy  little  garden,  and,  at  noon,  dined 
on  the  trophies  of  her  husbandry,  physically  and 
aesthetically. 

After  dinner,  dishes  washed  and  room  tidied,  she  sat 
down  on  the  narrow,  woodbine-infested  verandah  with 

49 


THE  DARK  STAR 


pencil  and  paper,  and  attempted  to  draw  the  stone 
bridge  and  the  little  river  where  it  spread  in  deeps 
and  shallows  above  the  broken  dam. 

Perspective  was  unknown  to  her ;  of  classic  composi 
tion  she  was  also  serenely  ignorant,  so  the  absence  of 
these  in  her  picture  did  not  annoy  her.  On  the  con 
trary,  there  was  something  hideously  modern  and  re 
cessional  in  her  vigorous  endeavour  to  include  in  her 
drawing  everything  her  grey  eyes  chanced  to  rest  on. 
She  even  arose  and  gently  urged  a  cow  into  the  already 
overcrowded  composition,  and,  having  accomplished  its 
portrait  with  Cezanne-like  fidelity,  was  beginning  to 
look  about  for  Adoniram  to  include  him  also,  when  her 
mother  called  to  her,  holding  out  a  pair  of  old  gloves. 

"Dear,  we  are  going  to  save  a  little  money  this  year. 
Do  you  think  you  could  catch  a  few  fish  for  supper?" 

The  girl  nodded,  took  the  gloves,  laid  aside  her  pencil 
and  paper,  picked  up  the  long  bamboo  pole  from  the 
verandah  floor,  and  walked  slowly  out  into  the  garden. 

A  trowel  was  sticking  in  the  dry  earth  near  the 
flower  bed,  where  poppies,  and  pansies,  and  petunias, 
and  phlox  bordered  the  walk. 

Under  a  lilac  the  ground  seemed  moister  and  more 
promising  for  vermicular  investigation ;  she  drew  on  her 
gloves,  dug  a  few  holes  with  the  trowel,  extracted  an 
angleworm,  frowned  slightly,  holding  it  between  gloved 
fingers,  regarding  its  contortions  with  pity  and 
aversion. 

To  bait  a  hook  was  not  agreeable  to  the  girl;  she 
managed  to  do  it,  however,  then  shouldering  her  pole 
she  walked  across  the  road  and  down  to  the  left, 
through  rank  grasses  and  patches  of  milkweed,  ber- 
gamot,  and  queen's  lace,  scattering  a  cloud  of  brown 
and  silver-spotted  butterflies. 

50 


EX  MACHINA 


Alder,  elder,  and  Indian  willow  barred  her  way ;  rank 
thickets  of  jewelweed  hung  vivid  blossoming  drops 
across  her  path;  woodbine  and  clematis  trailed  dainty 
snares  to  catch  her  in  their  fairy  nets;  a  rabbit  scur 
ried  out  from  behind  the  ruined  paper  mill  as  she  came 
to  the  swift,  shallow  water  below  the  dam. 

Into  this  she  presently  plumped  her  line,  and  the  next 
instant  jerked  it  out  again  with  a  wriggling,  silvery 
minnow  flashing  on  the  hook. 

Carrying  her  pole  with  its  tiny,  glittering  victim 
dangling  aloft,  Rue  hastily  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
road,  crossed  the  bridge  to  the  further  end,  seated 
herself  on  the  limestone  parapet,  and,  swinging  her  pole 
with  both  hands,  cast  line  and  hook  and  minnow  far 
out  into  the  pond.  It  was  a  business  she  did  not  care 
for — this  extinguishing  of  the  life-spark  in  anything. 
But,  like  her  mill  work,  it  appeared  to  be  a  necessary 
business,  and,  so  regarding  it,  she  went  about  it. 

The  pond  above  the  half-ruined  dam  lay  very  still; 
her  captive  minnow  swam  about  with  apparently  no  dis 
comfort,  trailing  on  the  surface  of  the  pond  above  him 
the  cork  which  buoyed  the  hook. 

Rue,  her  pole  clasped  in  both  hands  between  her 
knees,  gazed  with  preoccupied  eyes  out  across  the  water. 
On  the  sandy  shore,  a  pair  of  speckled  tip-ups  ran 
busily  about,  dipping  and  bobbing,  or  spread  their 
white,  striped  wings  to  sheer  the  still  surface  of  the 
pond,  swing  shoreward  with  bowed  wings  again,  and 
resume  their  formal,  quaint,  and  busy  manners. 

From  the  interstices  of  the  limestone  parapet  grew  a 
white  bluebell — the  only  one  Rue  had  ever  seen.  As 
long  as  she  could  remember  it  had  come  up  there  every 
year  and  bloomed,  snow-white  amid  a  world  of  its  blue 
comrades  in  the  grass  below.  She  looked  for  it  now, 

51 


THE  DARK  STAR 


saw  it  in  bud — three  sturdy  stalks  sprouting  at  right 
angles  from  the  wall  and  curving  up  parallel  to  it. 
Somehow  or  other  she  had  come  to  associate  this  white 
freak  of  nature  with  herself — she  scarcely  knew  why. 
It  comforted  her,  oddly,  to  see  it  again,  still  surviving, 
still  delicately  vigorous,  though  where  among  those 
stone  slabs  it  found  its  nourishment  she  never  could 
imagine. 

The  intense  blue  of  the  sky  had  altered  since  noon ; 
the  west  became  gradually  duller  and  the  air  stiller; 
and  now,  over  the  Gayfield  hills,  a  tall  cloud  thrust  up 
silvery-edged  convolutions  toward  a  zenith  still  rovally 
and  magnificently  blue. 

She  had  been  sitting  there  watching  her  swimming 
cork  for  over  an  hour  when  the  first  light  western 
breeze  arrived,  spreading  a  dainty  ripple  across  the 
pond.  Her  cork  danced,  drifted ;  beneath  it  she  caught 
the  momentary  glimmer  of  the  minnow;  then  the  cork 
was  jerked  under;  she  clasped  the  pole  with  all  her 
strength,  struck  upward;  and  a  heavy  pickerel,  all 
gold  and  green,  sprang  furiously  from  the  water  and 
fell  back  with  a  sharp  splash. 

Under  the  sudden  strain  of  the  fish  she  nearly  lost 
her  balance,  scrambled  hastily  down  from  the  parapet, 
propping  the  pole  desperately  against  her  body,  and 
stood  so,  unbending,  unyielding,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
water  where  the  taut  line  cut  it  at  forty-five  degrees. 

At  the  same  time  two  men  in  a  red  runabout  speeding 
westward  caught  sight  of  the  sharp  turn  by  the  bridge 
which  the  ruins  of  the  paper  mill  had  hidden.  The  man 
driving  the  car  might  have  made  it  even  then  had  he  not 
seen  Ruhannah  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge.  It  was 
instantly  all  off;  so  were  both  mud-guards  and  one 

52 


m 


Rue  cast  line  and  hook  and  minnow 
far  out  into  the  pond. 


EX  MACHINA 


wheel.  So  were  driver  and  passenger,  floundering  on 
their  backs  among  the  rank  grass  and  wild  flowers. 
Ruhannah,  petrified,  still  fast  to  her  fish,  gazed  at  the 
catastrophe  over  her  right  shoulder. 

A  broad,  short,  squarely  built  man  of  forty  emerged 
from  the  weeds,  went  hastily  to  the  car  and  did  some 
thing  to  it.  Noise  ceased;  clouds  of  steam  continued 
to  ascend  from  the  crumpled  hood. 

The  other  man,  even  shorter,  but  slimmer,  sauntered 
out  of  a  bed  of  milkweed  whither  he  had  been  cata 
pulted.  He  dusted  with  his  elbow  a  grey  felt  hat  as 
he  stood  looking  at  the  wrecked  runabout ;  his  com 
rade,  still  clutching  a  cigar  between  his  teeth,  continued 
to  examine  the  car. 

"Hell!"  remarked  the  short,  thickset  man. 

"It's  going  to  rain  like  it,  too,"  added  the  other.  The 
thunder  boomed  again  beyond  Gayfield  hills. 

"What  do  you  know  about  this !"  growled  the  thick 
set  man,  in  utter  disgust.  "Do  we  hunt  for  a  garage, 
or  what?" 

"It's  up  to  you,  Eddie.  And  say !  What  was  the 
matter  with  you?  Don't  you  know  a  bridge  when  you 
see  one?" 

"That  damn  girl "  He  turned  and  looked  at 

Ruhannah,  who  was  dragging  the  big  flapping  pickerel 
over  the  parapet  by  main  strength. 

The  men  scowled  at  her  in  silence,  then  the  one  ad 
dressed  as  Eddie  rolled  his  cigar  grimly  into  the  left 
corner  of  his  j  aw. 

"Damn  little  skirt,"  he  observed  briefly.  "It  seems 
to  worry  her  a  lot  what  she's  done  to  us." 

"I  wonder  does  she  know  she  wrecked  us,"  suggested 
the  other.  He  was  a  stunted,  wiry  little  man  of  thirty- 
five.  His  head  seemed  slightly  too  large;  he  had  a 

53 


THE  DARK  STAR 


pasty  face  with  the  sloe-black  eyes,  button  nose,  and 
the  widely  chiselled  mouth  of  a  circus  clown. 

The  eyes  of  the  short,  thickset  man  were  narrow  and 
greyish  green  in  a  round,  smoothly  shaven  face.  They 
narrowed  still  more  as  the  thunder  broke  louder  from 
the  west. 

Ruhannah,  dragging  her  fish  over  the  grass,  was 
coming  toward  them ;  and  the  man  called  Eddie  stepped 
forward  to  bar  her  progress. 

"Say,  girlie,"  he  began,  the  cigar  still  tightly 
screwed  into  his  cheek,  "is  there  a  juice  mill  anywhere 
near  us,  d'y'know?" 

"What?"  said  Rue. 

"A  garage." 

"Yes ;  there  is  one  at  Gayfield." 

"How  far,  girlie?" 

Rue  flushed,  but  answered: 

"It  is  half  a  mile  to  Gayfield." 

The  other  man,  noticing  the  colour  in  Ruhannah's 
face,  took  off  his  pearl-grey  hat.  His  language  was 
less  grammatical  than  hi3  friend's,  but  his  instincts 
were  better. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said — his  companion  staring  all  the 
while  at  the  girl  without  the  slightest  expression.  "Is 
there  a  telephone  in  any  of  them  houses,  miss?" — 
glancing  around  behind  him  at  the  three  edifices  which 
composed  the  crossroads  called  Brookhollow. 

"No,"  said  Rue. 

It  thundered  again;  the  world  around  had  become 
very  dusky  and  silent  and  the  flash  veined  a  rapidly 
blackening  west. 

"It's  going  to  rain  buckets,"  said  the  man  called 
Eddie.  "If  you  live  around  here,  can  you  let  us  come 
into  your  house  till  it's  over,  gir — er — miss?" 

54 


EX  MACHINA 


"Yes." 

"I'm  Mr.  Brandes — Ed  Brandes  of  New  York " 

speaking  through  cigar-clutching  teeth.  "This  is  Mr. 
Ben  Stull,  of  the  same.  .  .  .  It's  raining  already.  Is 
that  your  house?" 

"I  live  there,"  said  Rue,  nodding  across  the  bridge. 
"You  may  go  in." 

She  walked  ahead,  dragging  the  fish;  Stull  went  to 
the  car,  took  two  suitcases  from  the  boot;  Brandes 
threw  both  overcoats  over  his  arm,  and  followed  in  the 
wake  of  Ruhannah  and  her  fish. 

"No  Saratoga  and  no  races  today,  Eddie,"  remarked 
Stull.  But  Brandes'  narrow,  grey-green  eyes  were  fol 
lowing  Ruhannah. 

"It's  a  pity,"  continued  Stull,  "somebody  didn't 
learn  you  to  drive  a  car  before  you  ask  your  friends 
joy-riding." 

"Aw — shut  up,"  returned  Brandes  slowly,  between 
his  teeth. 

They  climbed  the  flight  of  steps  to  the  verandah, 
through  a  rapidly  thickening  gloom  which  was  ripped 
wide  open  at  intervals  by  lightning. 

So  Brandes  and  his  shadow,  Bennie  Stull,  came  into 
the  home  of  Ruhannah  Carew. 

Her  mother,  who  had  observed  their  approach  from 
the  window,  opened  the  door. 

"Mother,"  said  Ruhannah,  "here  is  the  fish  I  caught 
— and  two  gentlemen." 

With  which  dubious  but  innocent  explanation  she 
continued  on  toward  the  kitchen,  carrying  her  fish. 

Stull  offered  a  brief  explanation  to  account  for  their 
plight  and  presence;  Brandes,  listening  and  watching 
the  mother  out  of  greenish,  sleepy  eyes,  made  up  his 
mind  concerning  her. 

55 


THE  DARK  STAR 


While  the  spare  room  was  being  prepared  by  mother 
and  daughter,  he  and  Stull,  seated  in  the  sitting-room, 
their  hats  upon  their  knees,  exchanged  solemn  common 
places  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew. 

Brandes,  always  the  gambler,  always  wary  and 
reticent  by  nature,  did  all  the  listening  before  he  came 
to  conclusions  that  relaxed  the  stiffness  of  his  attitude 
and  the  immobility  of  his  large,  round  face. 

Then,  at  ease  under  circumstances  and  conditions 
which  he  began  to  comprehend  and  have  an  amiable 
contempt  for,  he  became  urbane  and  conversational, 
and  a  little  amused  to  find  navigation  so  simple,  even 
when  out  of  his  proper  element. 

From  the  book  on  the  invalid's  knees,  Brandes  took 
his  cue ;  and  the  conversation  developed  into  a  mono 
logue  on  the  present  condition  of  foreign  missions — 
skilfully  inspired  by  the  respectful  attention  and  the 
brief  and  ingenious  questions  of  Brandes. 

"Doubtless,"  concluded  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew, 
"you  are  familiar  with  the  life  of  the  Reverend 
Adoniram  Judson,  Mr.  Brandes." 

It  turned  out  to  be  Brandes'  favourite  book. 

"You  will  recollect,  then,  the  amazing  conditions  in 
India  which  confronted  Dr.  Judson  and  his  wife." 

Brandes  recollected  perfectly — with  a  slow  glance  at 
Stull. 

"All  that  is  changed,"  said  the  invalid.  " — God  be 
thanked.  And  conditions  in  Armenia  are  changing  for 
the  better,  I  hope." 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  returned  Brandes  solemnly. 

"To  doubt  it  is  to  doubt  the  goodness  of  the  Al 
mighty,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew.  His  dreamy 
eyes  became  fixed  on  the  rain-splashed  window,  burned 
a  little  with  sombre  inward  light. 

56 


EX  HACHINA 


"In  Trebizond,"  he  began,  "in  my  time 

Kis  wife  came  into  the  room,  saying  that  the  spare 
bedchamber  was  ready  and  that  the  gentlemen  might 
wish  to  wash  before  supper,  which  would  be  ready  in  a 
little  while. 

On  their  way  upstairs  they  encountered  Ruhannah 
coming  down.  Stull  passed  with  a  polite  grunt; 
Brandes  ranged  himself  for  the  girl  to  pass  him. 

"Ever  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Carew,"  he 
said.  "We  have  put  you  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble, 
I  am  sure." 

Rue  looked  up  surprised,  shy,  not  quite  understand 
ing  how  to  reconcile  his  polite  words  and  pleasant  voice 
with  the  voice  and  manner  in  which  he  had  addressed 
her  on  the  bridge. 

"It  is  no  trouble,"  she  said,  flushing  slightly.  "I 
hope  you  will  be  comfortable." 

And  she  continued  to  descend  the  stairs  a  trifle  more 
hastily,  not  quite  sure  she  cared  very  much  to  talk 
to  that  kind  of  man. 

In  the  spare  bedroom,  whither  Stull  and  Brandes  had 
been  conducted,  the  latter  was  seated  on  the  big  and 
rather  shaky  maple  bed,  buttoning  a  fresh  shirt  and 
collar,  while  Stull  took  his  turn  at  the  basin.  Rain  beat 
heavily  on  the  windows. 

"Say,  Ben,"  remarked  Brandes,  "you  want  to  be 
careful  when  we  go  downstairs  that  the  old  guy  don't 
spot  us  for  sporting  men.  He's  a  minister,  or  some 
thing." 

Stull  lifted  his  dripping  face  of  a  circus  clown  from 
the  basin. 

"What's  that?" 

57 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"I  say  we  don't  want  to  give  the  old  people  a  shock. 
You  know  what  they'd  think  of  us." 

"What  do  I  care  what  they  think?" 

"Can't  you  be  polite?" 

"I  can  be  better  than  that;  I  can  be  honest,"  said 
Stull,  drying  his  sour  visage  with  a  flimsy  towel. 

After  Brandes  had  tied  his  polka-dotted  tie  care 
fully  before  the  blurred  mirror: 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  asked  stolidly. 

"Ah — I  know  what  I  mean,  Eddie.  So  do  you. 
You're  a  smooth  talker,  all  right.  You  can  listen  and 
look  wise,  too,  when  there's  anything  in  it  for  you. 
Just  see  the  way  you  got  Stein  to  put  up  good  money 
for  you !  And  "all  you  done  was  to  listen  to  him  and 
keep  your  mouth  shut." 

Brandes  rose  with  an  air  almost  jocular  and  smote 
Stull  upon  the  back. 

"Stein  thinks  he's  the  greatest  manager  on  earth. 
Let  him  tell  you  so  if  you  want  anything  out  of  him," 
he  said,  walking  to  the  window. 

The  volleys  of  rain  splashing  on  the  panes  obscured 
the  outlook;  Brandes  flattened  his  nose  against  the 
glass  and  stood  as  though  lost  in  thought. 

Behind  him  Stull  dried  his  features,  rummaged  in  the 
suitcase,  produced  a  bathrobe  and  slippers,  put  them 
on,  and  stretched  himself  out  on  the  bed. 

"Aren't  you  coming  down  to  buzz  the  preacher?" 
demanded  Brandes,  turning  from  the  drenched  window. 

"So  you  can  talk  phony  to  the  little  kid?    No." 

"Ah,  get  it  out  of  your  head  that  I  mean  phony." 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Nothing." 

Stull  gave  him  a  contemptuous  glance  and  turned 
over  on  the  pillow. 

58 


EX  MACHINA 


"Are  you  coming  down?" 

"No." 

So  Brandes  took  another  survey  of  himself  in  the 
glass,  used  his  comb  and  brushes  again,  added  a  studied 
twist  to  his  tie,  shot  his  cuffs,  and  walked  out  of  the 
room  with  the  solid  deliberation  which  characterised 
his  carriage  at  all  times. 


CHAPTER    VI 
THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

A  RAIN-WASHED  world,  smelling  sweet  as  a  wet  rose, 
a  cloudless  sky  delicately  blue,  and  a  swollen  stream 
tumbling  and  foaming  under  the  bridge — of  these  Mr. 
Eddie  Brandes  was  agreeably  conscious  as  he  stepped 
out  on  the  verandah  after  breakfast,  and,  unclasping  a 
large  gold  cigar  case,  inserted  a  cigar  between  his  teeth. 

He  always  had  the  appearance  of  having  just  come 
out  of  a  Broadway  barber  shop  with  the  visible  traces 
of  shave,  shampoo,  massage,  and  manicure  patent  upon 
his  person. 

His  short,  square  figure  was  clothed  in  well-cut  blue 
serge ;  a  smart  straw  hat  embellished  his  head,  polished 
russet  shoes  his  remarkably  small  feet.  On  his  small 
fat  fingers  several  heavy  rings  were  conspicuous.  And 
the  odour  of  cologne  exhaled  from  and  subtly  pervaded 
the  ensemble. 

Across  the  road,  hub-deep  in  wet  grass  and  weeds, 
he  could  see  his  wrecked  runabout,  glistening  with  rain 
drops. 

He  stood  for  a  while  on  the  verandah,  both  hands 
shoved  deep  into  his  pockets,  his  cigar  screwed  into  his 
cheek.  From  time  to  time  he  jingled  keys  and  loose 
coins  in  his  pockets.  Finally  he  sauntered  down  the 
steps  and  across  the  wet  road  to  inspect  the  machine  at 
closer  view. 

Contemplating  it  tranquilly,  head  on  one  side  and 
his  left  eye  closed  to  avoid  the  drifting  cigar  smoke, 

60 


THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

he  presently  became  aware  of  a  girl  in  a  pink  print 
dress  leaning  over  the  grey  parapet  of  the  bridge.  And, 
picking  his  way  among  the  puddles,  he  went  toward 
her. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Carew,"  he  said,  taking  off  his 
straw  hat. 

She  turned  her  head  over  her  shoulder;  the  early 
sun  glistened  on  his  shiny,  carefully  parted  hair  and 
lingered  in  glory  on  a  diamond  scarf  pin. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  a  little  uncertainly,  for 
the  memory  of  their  first  meeting  on  the  bridge  had  not 
entirely  been  forgotten. 

"You  had  breakfast  early,"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

He  kept  his  hat  off;  such  little  courtesies  have  their 
effect ;  also  it  was  good  for  his  hair  which,  he  feared, 
had  become  a  trifle  thinner  recently. 

"It  is  beautiful  weather,"  said  Mr.  Brandes,  squint 
ing  at  her  through  his  cigar  smoke. 

"Yes."     She  looked  down  into  the  tumbling  water. 

"This  is  a  beautiful  country,  isn't  it,  Miss  Carew?" 

"Yes." 

With  his  head  a  little  on  one  side  he  inspected  her. 
There  was  only  the  fine  curve  of  her  cheek  visible,  and 
a  white  neck  under  the  chestnut  hair;  and  one  slim, 
tanned  hand  resting  on  the  stone  parapet. 

"Do  you  like  motoring?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up : 

"Yes.   ...  I  have  only  been  out  a  few  times." 

"I'll  have  another  car  up  here  in  a  few  days.  I'd  like 
to  take  you  out." 

She  was  silent. 

"Ever  go  to  Saratoga?"  he  inquired. 

"No." 

61 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"I'll  take  you  to  the  races — with  your  mother. 
Would  you  like  to  go?" 

She  remained  silent  so  long  that  he  became  a  trifle 
uneasy. 

"With  your  mother,"  he  repeated,  moving  so  he  could 
see  a  little  more  of  her  face. 

"I  don't  think  mother  would  go,"  she  said. 

"Would  she  let  you  go?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  racing,"  he  said,  "if 
you  don't  bet  money  on  the  horses." 

But  Rue  knew  nothing  about  sport,  and  her  igno 
rance  as  well  as  the  suggested  combination  of  Saratoga, 
automobile,  and  horse  racing  left  her  silent  again. 

Brandes  sat  down  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  and 
held  his  straw  hat  on  his  fat  knees. 

"Then  we'll  make  it  a  family  party,"  he  said,  "your 
father  and  mother  and  you,  shall  we?  And  we'll  just 
go  off  for  the  day." 

"Thank  you." 

"Would  you  like  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  go?" 

"I— work  in  the  mill." 

"Every  day?" 

"Yes." 

"How  about  Sunday?" 

"We  go  to  church.  ...  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Per 
haps  we  might  go  in  the  afternoon." 

"I'll  ask  your  father,"  he  said,  watching  the  deli 
cately  flushed  face  with  odd,  almost  sluggish  persist 
ency. 

His  grey-green  eyes  seemed  hypnotised;  he  ap 
peared  unable  to  turn  them  elsewhere;  and  she,  grad- 

62 


THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

ually  becoming  conscious  of  his  scrutiny,  kept  her  own 
eyes  averted. 

"What  were  you  looking  at  in  the  water?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  looking  for  our  boat.  It  isn't  there.  I'm 
afraid  it  has  gone  over  the  dam." 

"I'll  help  you  search  for  it,"  he  said,  "when  I  come 
back  from  the  village.  I'm  going  to  walk  over  and  find 
somebody  who'll  cart  that  runabout  to  the  railroad 
station.  .  .  .  You're  not  going  that  way,  are  you?"  he 
added,  rising. 

"No." 

"Then "  he  lifted  his  hat  high  and  put  it  on  with 

care — "until  a  little  later,  Miss  Carew.  .  .  .  And  I 
want  to  apologise  for  speaking  so  familiarly  to  you 
yesterday.  I'm  sorry.  It's  a  way  we  get  into  in  New 
York.  Broadway  isn't  good  for  a  man's  manners. 
.  .  .  Will  you  forgive  me,  Miss  Carew?" 

Embarrassment  kept  her  silent ;  she  nodded  her  head, 
and  finally  turned  and  looked  at  him.  His  smile  was 
agreeable. 

She  smiled  faintly,  too,  and  rose. 

"Until  later,  then,"  he  said.  "This  is  the  Gayfield 
road,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

She  turned  and  walked  toward  the  house;  and  as 
though  he  could  not  help  himself  he  walked  beside  her, 
his  hat  in  his  hand  once  more. 

"I  like  this  place,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  if  there  is  a 
hotel  in  Gayfield." 

"The  Gayfield  House." 

"Is  it  very  bad?"  he  asked  jocosely. 

She  seemed  surprised.  It  was  considered  good,  she 
thought. 

With  a  slight,  silent  nod  of  dismissal  she  crossed  the 

63 


THE  DARK  STAR 


road  and  went  into  the  house,  leaving  him  standing 
beside  his  wrecked  machine  once  more,  looking  after 
her  out  of  sluggish  eyes. 

Presently,  from  the  house,  emerged  Stull,  his  pasty 
face  startling  in  its  pallor  under  the  cloudless  sky,  and 
walked  slowly  over  to  Brandes. 

"Well,  Ben,"  said  the  latter  pleasantly,  "I'm  going 
to  Gayfield  to  telegraph  for  another  car." 

"How  soon  can  they  get  one  up?"  inquired  Stull,  in 
serting  a  large  cigar  into  his  slitted  mouth  and  light 
ing  it. 

"Oh,  in  a  couple  of  days,  I  guess.  I  don't  know. 
I  don't  care  much,  either." 

"We  can  go  on  to  Saratoga  by  train,"  suggested 
Stull  complacently. 

"We  can  stay  here,  too." 

"What  for?" 

Brandes  said  in  his  tight-lipped,  even  voice: 

"The  fishing's  good.  I  guess  I'll  try  it."  He  con 
tinued  to  contemplate  the  machine,  but  Stull's  black 
eyes  were  turned  on  him  intently. 

"How  about  the  races?"  he  asked.  "Do  we  go  or 
not?" 

"Certainly." 

"When?" 

"When  they  send  us  a  car  to  go  in." 

"Isn't  the  train  good  enough?" 

"The  fishing  here  is  better." 

Stull's  pasty  visage  turned  sourer: 

"Do  you  mean  we  lose  a  couple  of  days  in  this  God 
forsaken  dump  because  you'd  rather  go  to  Saratoga 
in  a  runabout  than  in  a  train?" 

"I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  stick  around  for  a  while." 

"For  how  long?" 

64 


THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  When  we  get  our  car  we  can  talk 
it  over  and 

"Ah,"  ejaculated  Stull  in  disgust,  "what  the  hell's 
the  matter  with  you?  Is  it  that  little  skirt  you  was 
buzzing  out  here  like  you  never  seen  one  before?" 

"How  did  you  guess,  Ben?"  returned  Brandes  with 
the  almost  expressionless  jocularity  that  characterised 
him  at  times. 

"That  little  red-headed,  spindling,  freckled,  milk-fed 
mill-hand— 

"Funny,  ain't  it?  But  there's  no  telling  what  will 
catch  the  tired  business  man,  is  there,  Ben?" 

"Well,  what  does  catch  him?"  demanded  Stull  an 
grily.  "What's  the  answer?" 

"I  guess  she's  the  answer,  Ben." 

"Ah,  leave  the  kid  alone 

"I'm  going  to  have  the  car  sent  up  here.  I'm  going 
to  take  her  out.  Go  on  to  Saratoga  if  you  want  to. 
I'll  meet  you  there " 

"When?" 

"When  I'm  ready,"  replied  Brandes  evenly.  But  he 
smiled. 

Stull  looked  at  him,  and  his  white  face,  soured  by 
dyspepsia,  became  sullen  with  wrath.  At  such  times, 
too,  his  grammar  suffered  from  indigestion. 

"Say,  Eddie,"  he  began,  "can't  no  one  learn  you 
nothin'  at  all?  How  many  times  would  you  have  been 
better  off  if  you'd  listened  to  me?  Every  time  you 
throw  me  you  hand  yourself  one.  Now  that  you  got  a 
little  money  again  and  a  little  backing,  don't  do  any 
thing  like  that " 

"Like  what?" 

"Like  chasin'  dames !  Don't  act  foolish  like  you  done 
in  Chicago  last  summer!  You  wouldn't  listen  to  me 

65 


THE  DARK  STAR 


then,  would  you?  And  that  Denver  business,  too! 
Say,  look  at  all  the  foolish  things  you  done  against  all 
I  could  say  to  save  you — like  backing  that  cowboy  plug 
against  Battling  Jensen ! — Like  taking  that  big  hunk  o' 
beef,  Walstein,  to  San  Antonio,  where  Kid  O'Rourke 
put  him  out  in  the  first !  And  everybody's  laughing  at 

you  yet !     Ah '  he  exclaimed  angrily,  "somebody 

tell  me  why  I  don't  quit  you,  you  big  dill  pickle!  I 
wish  someone  would  tell  me  why  I  stand  for  you,  because 
I  don't  know.  .  .  .  And  look  what  you're  doing  now; 
you  got  some  money  of  your  own  and  plenty  of  syndi 
cate  money  to  put  on  the  races  and  a  big  comish !  You 
got  a  good  theayter  in  town  with  Morris  Stein  to  back 
you  and  everything — and  look  what  you're  doing!"  he 
ended  bitterly. 

Brandes  tightened  his  dental  grip  on  his  cigar  and 
squinted  at  him  good-humouredly. 

"Say,  Ben,"  he  said,  "would  you  believe  it  if  I  told 
you  I'm  stuck  on  her?" 

"Ah,  you'd  fall  for  anything.     I  never  seen  a  skirt 
you  wouldn't  chase." 

"I  don't  mean  that  kind." 

"What  kind,  then?" 

"This  is  on  the  level,  Ben." 

"What!    Ah,  goon!     You  on  the  level?" 

"All  the  same,  I  am." 

"You  can't  be  on  the  level !     You  don't  know  how." 

"Why?" 

"You  got  a  wife,  and  you  know  damn  well  you  have." 

"Yes,  and  she's  getting  her  divorce." 

Stull  regarded  him  with  habitual  and  sullen  distrust. 

"She  hasn't  got  it  yet." 

"She'll  get  it.     Don't  worry." 

"I  thought  you  was  for  fighting  it." 

66 


THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

"I  was  going  to  fight  it ;  but "    His  slow,  narrow, 

greenish  eyes  stole  toward  the  house  across  the  road. 

"Just  like  that,"  he  said,  after  a  slight  pause ;  "that's 
the  way  the  little  girl  hit  me.  I'm  on  the  level,  Ben. 
First  skirt  I  ever  saw  that  I  wanted  to  find  waiting 
dinner  for  me  when  I  come  home.  Get  me?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not." 

"Get  this,  then ;  she  isn't  all  over  paint ;  she's  got 
freckles,  thank  God,  and  she  smells  sweet  as  a  daisy 

field.     Ah,  what  the  hell "  he  burst  out  between  his 

parted  teeth  " — when  every  woman  in  New  York  smells 
like  a  chorus  girl !  Don't  I  get  it  all  day  ?  The  whole 
city  stinks  like  a  star's  dressing  room.  And  I  married 
one !  And  I'm  through.  I  want  to  get  my  breath  and 
I'm  getting  it." 

Stull's  white  features  betrayed  merely  the  morbid 
suffering  of  indigestion;  he  said  nothing  and  sucked 
his  cigar. 

"I'm  through,"  repeated  Brandes.  "I  want  a  home 
and  a  wife — the  kind  that  even  a  fly  cop  won't  pinch 
on  sight — the  kind  of  little  thing  that's  over  there  in 
that  old  shack.  Whatever  I  am,  I  don't  want  a  wife 
like  me — nor  kids,  either." 

Stull  remained  sullenly  unresponsive. 

"Call  her  a  hick  if  you  like.  All  right,  I  want  that 
kind." 

No  comment  from  Stull,  who  was  looking  at  the 
wrecked  car. 

"Understand,  Ben?" 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not !" 

"Well,  what  don't  you  understand?" 

"Nothin'.  .  .  .  Well,  then,  your  falling  for  a  kid 
like  that,  first  crack  out  o'  the  box.  I'm  honest;  I 
don't  understand  it." 

67 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"She  hit  me  that  way — so  help  me  God !" 

"And  you're  on  the  level?" 

"Absolutely,  Ben." 

"What  about  the  old  guy  and  the  mother?  Take  'em 
to  live  with  you?" 

"If  she  wants  'em." 

Stull  stared  at  him  in  uneasy  astonishment : 

"All  right,  Eddie.  Only  don't  act  foolish  till  Minna 
passes  you  up.  And  get  out  of  here  or  you  will.  If 
you're  on  the  level,  as  you  say  you  are,  you've  got  to 
mark  time  for  a  good  long  while  yet — 

"Why?" 

"You  don't  have  to  ask  me  that,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Why?  I  want  to  marry  her,  I  tell  you. 
I  mean  to.  I'm  taking  no  chances  that  some  hick 
will  do  it  while  I'm  away.  I'm  going  to  stay  right 
here." 

"And  when  the  new  car  comes?" 

"I'll  keep  her  humming  between  here  and  Saratoga." 

"And  then  what?" 

Brandes'  greenish  eyes  rested  on  the  car  and  he 
smoked  in  silence  for  a  while.  Then: 

"Listen,  Ben.  I'm  a  busy  man.  I  got  to  be  back  in 
town  and  I  got  to  have  a  wedding  trip  too.  You  know 
me,  Ben.  You  know  what  I  mean.  That's  me.  When 
I  do  a  thing  I  do  it.  Maybe  I  make  plenty  of  mistakes. 
Hell!  I'd  rather  make  'em  than  sit  pat  and  do 
nothing !" 

"You're  crazy." 

"Don't  bet  on  it,  Ben.  I  know  what  I  want.  I'm 
going  to  make  money.  Things  are  going  big  with 
me " 

"You  tinhorn  !     You  always  say  that !" 

"Watch  me.  I  bet  you  I  make  a  killing  at  Saratoga ! 

68 


THE  END  OF  SOLITUDE 

I  bet  you  I  make  good  with  Morris  Stein!  I  bet  you 
the  first  show  I  put  on  goes  big !  I  bet " 

"Ah,  can  it !" 

"Wait!  I  bet  you  I  marry  that  little  girl  in  two 
weeks  and  she  stands  for  it  when  I  tell  her  later  we'd 
better  get  married  again!" 

"Say!     Talk  sense!" 

"I  am." 

"What'll  they  do  to  you  if  your  wife  makes  a  holler?" 

"Who  ever  heard  of  her  or  me  in  the  East?" 

"You  want  to  take  a  chance  like  that?" 

"I'll  fix  it.  I  haven't  got  time  to  wait  for  Minna 
to  shake  me  loose.  Besides,  she's  in  Seattle.  I'll  fix  it 
so  she  doesn't  hear  until  she  gets  her  freedom.  I'll  get 
a  license  right  here.  I  guess  I'll  use  your  name — 

"What!"  yelled  Stull. 

"Shut  your  face !"  retorted  Brandes.  "What  do  you 
think  you're  going  to  do,  squeal?" 

"You  think  I'm  going  to  stand  for  that?" 

"Well,  then,  I  won't  use  your  name.  I'll  use  my  own. 
Why  not?  I  mean  honest.  It's  dead  level.  I'll  re 
marry  her.  I  want  her,  I  tell  you.  I  want  a  wedding 
trip,  too,  before  I  go  back 

"With  the  first  rehearsal  called  for  September  fif 
teenth !  What's  the  matter  with  you?  Do  you  think 
Stein  is  going  to  stand  for — 

"Fow'/Z  be  on  hand,"  said  Brandes  pleasantly.  "I'm 
going  to  Paris  for  four  weeks — two  weeks  there,  two 
on  the  ocean " 

"You " 

"Save  your  voice,  Ben.     That's  settled." 

Stull  turned  upon  him  a  dead  white  visage  distorted 
with  fury: 

"I  hope  she  throws  you  out!"  he  said  breathlessly. 

69 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"You  talk  about  being  on  the  level!  Every  level's 
crooked  with  you.  You  don't  know  what  square  means ; 
a  square  has  got  more  than  four  corners  for  you !  Go 
on!  Stick  around.  I  don't  give  a  damn  what  you  do. 
Go  on  and  do  it.  But  I  quit  right  here." 

Both  knew  that  the  threat  was  empty.  As  a  shadow 
clings  to  a  man's  heels,  as  a  lost  soul  haunts  its  slayer, 
as  damnation  stalks  the  damned,  so  had  Stull  followed 
Brandes;  and  would  follow  to  the  end.  Why?  Neither 
knew.  It  seemed  to  be  their  destiny,  surviving  every 
thing — their  bitter  quarrels,  the  injustice  and  tyranny 
of  Brandes,  his  contempt  and  ridicule  sometimes — en 
during  through  adversity,  even  penury,  through  good 
and  bad  days,  through  abundance  and  through  want, 
through  shame  and  disgrace,  through  trickery,  treach 
ery,  and  triumph — nothing  had  ever  broken  the  occult 
bond  which  linked  these  two.  And  neither  understood 
why,  but  both  seemed  to  be  vaguely  conscious  that 
neither  was  entirely  complete  without  the  other. 

"Ben,"  said  Brandes  affably,  "I'm  going  to  walk 
over  to  Gayfield.  Want  to  come?" 

They  went  off,  together. 


CHAPTER    VII 

OBSESSION 

BY  the  end  of  the  week  Brandes  had  done  much  to 
efface  any  unpleasant  impression  he  had  made  on  Ru- 
hannah  Carew. 

The  girl  had  never  before  had  to  do  with  any  mature 
man.  She  was  therefore  at  a  disadvantage  in  every 
way,  and  her  total  lack  of  experience  emphasised  the 
odds. 

Nobody  had  ever  before  pointedly  preferred  her, 
paid  her  undivided  attention ;  no  man  had  ever  sought 
her,  conversed  with  her,  deferred  to  her,  interested  him 
self  in  her.  It  was  entirely  new  to  her,  this  attention 
which  Brandes  paid  her.  Nor  could  she  make  any  com 
parisons  between  this  man  and  other  men,  because  she 
knew  no  other  men.  He  was  an  entirely  novel  experi 
ence  to  her ;  he  had  made  himself  interesting,  had 
proved  amusing,  considerate,  kind,  generous,  and  ap 
parently  interested  in  what  interested  her.  And  if  his 
unfeigned  preference  for  her  society  disturbed  and  per 
plexed  her,  his  assiduous  civilities  toward  her  father 
and  mother  were  gradually  winning  from  her  far  more 
than  anything  he  had  done  for  her. 

His  white-faced,  odd  little  friend  had  gone;  he  him 
self  had  taken  quarters  at  the  Gayfield  House,  where  a 
car  like  the  wrecked  one  was  stabled  for  his  use. 

He  had  already  taken  her  father  and  mother  and 
herself  everywhere  within  motoring  distance;  he  had 
accompanied  them  to  church ;  he  escorted  her  to  the 

71 


THE  DARK  STAR 


movies ;  he  walked  with  her  in  the  August  evenings  after 
supper,  rowed  her  about  on  the  pond,  fished  from  the 
bridge,  told  her  strange  stories  in  the  moonlight  on  the 
verandah,  her  father  and  mother  interested  and  atten 
tive. 

For  the  career  of  Mr.  Eddie  Brandes  was  capable  of 
furnishing  material  for  interesting  stories  if  carefully 
edited,  and  related  with  discretion  and  circumspection. 
He  had  been  many  things  to  many  men — and  to  several 
women — he  had  been  a  tinhorn  gambler  in  the  South 
west,  a  miner  in  Alaska,  a  saloon  keeper  in  Wyoming,  a 
fight  promoter  in  Arizona.  He  had  travelled  profitably 
on  popular  ocean  liners  until  requested  to  desist ; 
Auteuil,  Neuilly,  Vincennes,  and  Longchamps  knew  him 
as  tout,  bookie,  and,  when  fitfully  prosperous,  as  a 
plunger.  Epsom  knew  him  once  as  a  welcher;  and 
knew  him  no  more. 

He  had  taken  a  comic  opera  company  through  the 
wheat-belt — one  way  ;  he  had  led  a  burlesque  troupe  into 
Arizona  and  had  traded  it  there  for  a  hotel. 

"When  Eddie  wants  to  talk,"'  Stull  used  to  say,  "that 
smoke,  Othello,  hasn't  got  nothing  on  him." 

However,  Brandes  seldom  chose  to  talk.  This  was 
one  of  his  rare  garrulous  occasions ;  and,  with  careful 
self-censorship,  he  was  making  an  endless  series  of  won 
der-tales  out  of  the  episodes  and  fails  divers  common 
to  the  experience  of  such  as  he. 

So,  of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field  this  man 
had  a  store,  and  he  contrived  to  make  them  artistically 
innocuous  and  perfectly  fit  for  family  consumption. 

Further,  two  of  his  friends  motored  over  from  Sara 
toga  to  see  him,  were  brought  to  supper  at  the  Carews' ; 
and  they  gave  him  a  clean  bill  of  moral  health.  They 
were,  respectively,  "Doc"  Curfoot — suave  haunter  of 

72 


OBSESSION 


Peacock  Alley  and  gentleman  "capper" — whom  Brandes 
introduced  as  the  celebrated  specialist,  Doctor  Elbert 
Curfoot — and  Captain  Harman  Quint,  partner  in 
"Quint's"  celebrated  temple  of  chance — introduced  as 
the  distinguished  navigating  officer  which  he  appeared 
to  be.  The  steering  for  their  common  craft,  however, 
was  the  duty  of  the  eminent  Doc. 

They  spent  the  evening  on  the  verandah  with  the 
family;  and  it  was  quite  wonderful  what  a  fine  fellow 
each  turned  out  to  be — information  confidentially 
imparted  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  by  each  of  the 
three  distinguished  gentlemen  in  turn. 

Doc  Curfoot,  whose  business  included  the  ability  to 
talk  convincingly  on  any  topic,  took  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Carew's  measure  and  chose  literature;  and  his  suave 
critique  presently  became  an  interesting  monologue 
listened  to  in  silence  by  those  around  him. 

Brandes  had  said,  "Put  me  in  right,  Doc,"  and  Doc 
was  accomplishing  it,  partly  to  oblige  Brandes,  partly 
for  practice.  His  agreeable  voice  so  nicely  pitched,  so 
delightfully  persuasive,  recapitulating  all  the  common 
places  and  cant  phrases  concerning  the  literature  of 
the  day,  penetrated  gratefully  the  intellectual  isolation 
of  these  humble  gentlepeople,  and  won  very  easily  their 
innocent  esteem.  With  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  Doc 
discussed  such  topics  as  the  influence  on  fiction  of  the 
ethical  ideal.  With  Mrs.  Carew  Captain  Quint  ex 
changed  reminiscences  of  travel  on  distant  seas. 
Brandes  attempted  to  maintain  low-voiced  conversation 
with  Rue,  who  responded  in  diffident  monosyllables  to 
his  advances. 

Brandes  walked  down  to  their  car  with  them  after 
they  had  taken  their  leave. 

73 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"What's  the  idea,  Eddie?"  inquired  Doc  Curfoot, 
pausing  before  the  smart  little  speeder. 

"It's  straight." 

"Oh,"  said  Doc,  softly,  betraying  no  surprise — about 
the  only  thing  he  never  betrayed.  "Anything  in  it  for 
you,  Eddie?" 

"Yes.  A  good  girl.  The  kind  you  read  about.  Isn't 
that  enough?" 

"Minna  chucked  you?"  inquired  Captain  Quint. 

"She'll  get  her  decree  in  two  or  three  months.  Then 
I'll  have  a  home.  And  everything  that  you  and  I  are 
keeps  out  of  that  home,  Cap.  See?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Quint.     "Quite  right,  Eddie." 

Doc  Curfoot  climbed  in  and  took  the  wheel;  Quint 
followed  him. 

"Say,"  he  said  in  his  pleasant,  guarded  voice,  "watch 
out  that  Minna  don't  double-cross  you,  Eddie." 

"How?" 

" — Or  shoot  you  up.  She's  some  schutzen-fest,  you 
know,  when  she  turns  loose ?; 

"Ah,  I  tell  you  she  wants  the  divorce.  Abe  Grittle- 
feld's  crazy  a,bout  her.  He'll  get  Abe  Gordon  to  star 
her  on  Broadway ;  and  that's  enough  for  her.  Besides, 
she'll  marry  Maxy  Venem  when  she  can  afford  to  keep 
him." 

"Fow,  never  understood  Minna  Minti." 

"Well,  who  ever  understood  any  German?"  demanded 
Brandes.  "She's  one  of  those  sour-blooded,  silent 
Dutch  women  that  make  me  ache." 

Doc  pushed  the  self-starter;  there  came  a  click,  a 
low  humming.  Brandes'  face  cleared  and  he  held  out 
his  square-shaped  hand: 

"You  fellows,"  he  said,  "have  put  me  right  with  the 
old  folks  here.  I'll  do  the  same  for  you  some  day. 

74 


OBSESSION 


Don't  talk  about  this  little  girl  and  me,  that's 
all." 

"All  the  same,"  repeated  Doc,  "don't  take  any 
chances  with  Minna.  She's  on  to  you,  and  she's  got  a 
rotten  Dutch  disposition." 

"That's  right,  Doc.  And  say,  Harman," — to  Quint 
— "tell  Ben  he's  doing  fine.  Tell  him  to  send  me  what's 
mine,  because  I'll  want  it  very  soon  now.  I'm  going 
to  take  a  month  off  and  then  I'm  going  to  show  Stein 
how  a  theatre  can  be  run." 

"Eddie,"  said  Quint,  "it's  a  good  thing  to  think  big, 
but  it's  a  damn  poor  thing  to  talk  big.  Cut  out  the 
talk  and  you'll  be  a  big  man  some  day." 

The  graceful  car  moved  forward  into  the  moonlight; 
his  two  friends  waved  an  airy  adieu ;  and  Brandes  went 
slowly  back  to  the  dark  verandah  where  sat  a  young 
girl,  pitifully  immature  in  mind  and  body — and  two 
old  people  little  less  innocent  for  all  their  experience  in 
the  ranks  of  Christ,  for  all  the  wounds  that  scarred 
them  both  in  the  over-sea  service  which  had  broken  them 
forever. 

"A  very  handsome  and  distinguished  gentleman,  your 
friend  Dr.  Curfoot,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Carew.  "I 
imagine  his  practice  in  New  York  is  not  only  fashion 
able  but  extensive." 

"Both,"  said  Brandes. 

"I  assume  so.  He  seems  to  be  intimately  acquainted 
with  people  whose  names  for  generations  have  figured 
prominently  in  the  social  columns  of  the  New  York 


press." 


"Oh,  yes,  Curfoot  and  Quint  know  them  all." 
Which  was  true  enough.     They  had  to.     One  must 
know  people  from  whom  one  accepts  promissory  notes 
to  liquidate  those  little  affairs  peculiar  to  the  temple 

75 


THE  DARK  STAR 


of  chance.     And  New  York's  best  furnished  the  neo 
phytes  for  these  rites. 

"I  thought  Captain  Quint  very  interesting,"  ven 
tured  Ruhannah.  "He  seems  to  have  sailed  over  the 
entire  globe." 

"Naval  men  are  always  delightful,"  said  her  mother. 
And,  laying  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm  in  the  dark: 
"Do  you  remember,  Wilbour,  how  kind  the  officers  from 
the  cruiser  Oneida  were  when  the  rescue  party  took  us 
aboard?" 

"God  sent  the  Oneida  to  us,"  said  her  husband 
dreamily.  "I  thought  it  was  the  end  of  the  world  for 
us — for  you  and  me  and  baby  Rue — that  dreadful 
flight  from  the  mission  to  the  sea." 

His  bony  fingers  tightened  over  his  wife's  toilworn 
hand.  In  the  long  grass  along  the  creek  fireflies 
sparkled,  and  their  elfin  lanterns,  waning,  glowing, 
drifted  high  in  the  calm  August  night. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Carew  gathered  his  crutches ;  the 
night  was  a  trifle  damp  for  him;  besides,  he  desired  to 
read.  Brandes,  as  always,  rose  to  aid  him.  His  wife 
followed. 

"Don't  stay  out  long,  Rue,"  she  said  in  the  door 
way. 

"No,  mother." 

Brandes  came  back.  Departing  from  his  custom,  he 
did  not  light  a  cigar,  but  sat  in  silence,  his  narrow  eyes 
trying  to  see  Ruhannah  in  the  darkness.  But  she  was 
only  a  delicate  shadow  shape  to  him,  scarcely  detached 
from  the  darkness  that  enveloped  her. 

He  meant  to  speak  to  her  then.  And  suddenly  found 
he  could  not,  realised,  all  at  once,  that  he  lacked  the 
courage. 

This  was  the  more  amazing  and  disturbing  to  him 

76 


OBSESSION 


because  he  could  not  remember  the  time  or  occasion 
when  the  knack  of  fluent  speech  had  ever  failed 
him. 

He  had  never  foreseen  such  a  situation ;  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  he  would  find  the  slightest  diffi 
culty  in  saying  easily  and  gracefully  what  he  had  deter 
mined  to  say  to  this  young  girl. 

Now  he  sat  there  silent,  disturbed,  nervous,  and 
tongue-tied.  At  first  he  did  not  quite  comprehend  what 
was  making  him  afraid.  After  a  long  while  he  under 
stood  that  it  was  some  sort  of  fear  of  her — fear  of  her 
refusal,  fear  of  losing  her,  fear  that  she  might  have — 
in  some  occult  way — divined  what  he  really  was,  that 
she  might  have  heard  things  concerning  him,  his  wife, 
his  career.  The  idea  turned  him  cold. 

And  all  at  once  he  realised  how  terribly  in  earnest 
he  had  become ;  how  deeply  involved ;  how  vital  this 
young  girl  had  become  to  him. 

Never  before  had  he  really  wanted  anything  as  com 
pared  to  this  desire  of  his  for  her.  He  was  understand 
ing,  too,  in  a  confused  way,  that  such  a  girl  and  such 
a  home  for  him  as  she  could  make  was  going  not  only 
to  give  him  the  happiness  he  expected,  but  that  it  also 
meant  betterment  for  himself — straighter  living,  per 
haps  straighter  thinking — the  birth  of  something  re 
sembling  self-respect,  perhaps  even  aspiration — or  at 
least  the  aspiration  toward  that  respect  from  others 
which  honest  living  dare  demand. 

He  wanted  her ;  he  wanted  her  now ;  he  wanted  to 
marry  her  whether  or  not  he  had  the  legal  right ;  he 
wanted  to  go  away  for  a  month  with  her,  and  then  re 
turn  and  work  for  her,  for  them  both — build  up  a  for 
tune  and  a  good  reputation  with  Stein's  backing  and 
Stein's  theatre — stand  well  with  honest  men,  stand  well 


THE  DARK  STAR 


with  himself,  stand  always,  with  her,  for  everything  a 
man  should  be. 

If  she  loved  him  she  would  forgive  him  and  quietly 
remarry  him  as  soon  as  Minna  kicked  him  loose.  He 
was  confident  he  could  make  her  happy,  make  her  love 
him  if  once  he  could  find  courage  to  speak — if  once  he 
could  win  her.  And  suddenly  the  only  possible  way  to 
go  about  it  occurred  to  him. 

His  voice  was  a  trifle  husky  and  unsteady  from  the 
nervous  tension  when  he  at  last  broke  the  silence: 

"Miss  Rue,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  word  to  say  to  your 
father  and  mother.  Would  you  wait  here  until  I  come 
back?" 

"I  think  I  had  better  go  in,  too " 

"Please  don't." 

"Why?"  She  stopped  short,  instinctively,  but  not 
surmising. 

"You  will  wait,  then?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  going  in.   ...  But  I'll  sit  here  a  little  while." 

He  rose  and  went  in,  rather  blindly. 

Ruhannah,  dreaming  there  deep  in  her  splint  arm 
chair,  slim  feet  crossed,  watched  the  fireflies  sailing  over 
the  alders.  Sometimes  she  thought  of  Brandes,  pleas 
antly,  sometimes  of  other  matters.  Once  the  memory 
of  her  drive  home  through  the  wintry  moonlight  with 
young  Neeland  occurred  to  her,  and  the  reminiscence 
was  vaguely  agreeable. 

Listless,  a  trifle  sleepy,  dreamily  watching  the  fireflies, 
the  ceaseless  noise  of  the  creek  in  her  ears,  inconsequen 
tial  thoughts  flitted  through  her  brain — the  vague,  aim 
less,  guiltless  thoughts  of  a  young  and  unstained 
mind. 

She  was  nearly  asleep  when  Brandes  came  back,  and 

78 


OBSESSION 


she  looked  up  at  him  where  he  stood  beside  her  porch 
chair  in  the  darkness. 

"Miss  Rue,"  he  said,  "I  have  told  your  father  and 
mother  that  I  am  in  love  with  you  and  want  to  make 
you  my  wife." 

The  girl  lay  there  speechless,  astounded. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 

THE  racing  season  at  Saratoga  drew  toward  its  close, 
and  Brandes  had  appeared  there  only  twice  in  person, 
both  times  with  a  very  young  girl. 

"If  you  got  to  bring  her  here  to  the  races,  can't  you 
get  her  some  clothes  ?"  whispered  Stull  in  his  ear.  "That 
get-up  of  hers  is  something  fierce." 

Late  hours,  hot  weather,  indiscreet  nourishment,  and 
the  feverish  anxiety  incident  to  betting  other  people's 
money  had  told  on  Stull.  His  eyes  were  like  two  smears 
of  charcoal  on  his  pasty  face ;  sourly  he  went  about  the 
business  which  Brandes  should  have  attended  to,  nurs 
ing  resentment — although  he  was  doing  better  than 
Brandes  had  hoped  to  do. 

Their  joint  commission  from  his  winnings  began  to 
assume  considerable  proportions ;  at  track  and  club  and 
hotel  people  were  beginning  to  turn  and  stare  when  the 
little  man  with  the  face  of  a  sick  circus  clown  ap 
peared,  always  alone,  greeting  with  pallid  indifference 
his  acquaintances,  ignoring  overtures,  noticing  neither 
sport,  nor  fashion,  nor  political  importance,  nor  yet 
the  fair  and  frail  whose  curiosity  and  envy  he  was  grad 
ually  arousing. 

Obsequiousness  from  club,  hotel,  and  racing  officials 
made  no  impression  on  him ;  he  went  about  his  business 
alone,  sullen,  preoccupied,  deathly  pale,  asking  no  in 
formation,  requesting  no  favours,  conferring  with  no 
body,  doing  no  whispering  and  enduring  none. 

80 


A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 


After  a  little  study  of  that  white,  sardonic,  impossi 
ble  face,  people  who  would  have  been  glad  to  make  use 
of  him  became  discouraged.  And  those  who  first  had 
recognised  him  in  Saratoga  found,  at  the  end  of  the 
racing  month,  nothing  to  add  to  their  general  identifi 
cation  of  him  as  "Ben  Stull,  partner  of  Eddie  Brandes 
— Western  sports." 

Stull,  whispering  in  Brandes'  ear  again,  where  he  sat 
beside  him  in  the  grand  stand,  added  to  his  earlier  com 
ment  on  Ruhannah's  appearance: 

"Why  don't  you  fix  her  up,  Eddie  ?  It  looks  like  you 
been  robbing  a  country  school." 

Brandes'  slow,  greenish  eyes  marked  sleepily  the  dis 
tant  dust,  where  Mr.  Sanford's  Nick  Stoner  was  lead 
ing  a  brilliant  field,  steadily  overhauling  the  favourite, 
Deborah  Glenn. 

"When  the  time  comes  for  me  to  fix  her  up,"  he  said 
between  thin  lips  which  scarcely  moved,  "she'll  look 
like  Washington  Square  in  May — not  like  Fifth  Ave 
nue  and  Broadway." 

Nick  Stoner  continued  to  lead.  Stull's  eyes  resem 
bled  two  holes  burnt  in  a  sheet;  Brandes  yawned. 
They  were  plunging  the  limit  on  the  Sanford  fa 
vourite. 

As  for  Ruhannah,  she  sat  with  slender  gloved  hands 
tightly  clasped,  lips  parted,  intent,  fascinated  with  the 
sunlit  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Brandes  looked  at  her,  and  his  heavy,  expressionless 
features  altered  subtly: 

"Some  running!"  he  said. 

A  breathless  nod  was  her  response.  All  around  them 
repressed  excitement  was  breaking  out;  men  stood  up 
and  shouted;  women  rose,  and  the  club  house  seemed 

81 


THE  DARK  STAR 


suddenly  to  blossom  like  a  magic  garden  of  wind-tossed 
flowers. 

Through  the  increasing  cheering  Stull  looked  on 
without  a  sign  of  emotion,  although  affluence  or  ruin,  in 
the  Sanford  colours,  sat  astride  the  golden  roan. 

Suddenly  Ruhannah  stood  up,  one  hand  pressed  to 
the  ill-fitting  blue  serge  over  her  wildly  beating  heart. 
Brandes  rose  beside  her.  Not  a  muscle  in  his  features 
moved. 

"Gawd!"  whispered  Stull  in  his  ear,  as  they  were 
leaving. 

"Some  killing,  Ben!"  nodded  Brandes  in  his  low,  de 
liberate  voice.  His  heavy,  round  face  was  deeply 
flushed ;  Fortune,  the  noisy  wanton,  had  flung  both 
arms  around  his  neck.  But  his  slow  eyes  were  contin 
ually  turned  on  the  slim  young  girl  whom  he  was  teach 
ing  to  walk  beside  him  without  taking  his  arm. 

"Ain't  she  on  to  us?"  Stull  had  enquired.  And 
Brandes'  reply  was  correct;  Ruhannah  never  dreamed 
that  it  made  a  penny's  difference  to  Brandes  whether 
Nick  Stoner  won  or  whether  it  was  Deborah  Glenn 
which  the  wild-voiced  throng  saluted. 

They  did  not  remain  in  Saratoga  for  dinner.  They 
took  Stull  back  to  his  hotel  on  the  rumble  of  the  run 
about,  Brandes  remarking  that  he  thought  he  should 
need  a  chauffeur  before  long  and  suggesting  that  Stull 
look  about  Saratoga  for  a  likely  one. 

Halted  in  the  crush  before  the  United  States  Hotel, 
Stull  decided  to  descend  there.  Several  men  in  the 
passing  crowds  bowed  to  Brandes ;  one,  Norton  Smaw- 
ley,  known  to  the  fraternity  as  "Parson"  Smawley, 
came  out  to  the  curb  to  shake  hands.  Brandes  intro- 

82 


A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 


duced  him  to  Rue  as  "Parson"  Smawley — whether  with 
some  sinister  future  purpose  already  beginning  to  take 
shape  in  his  round,  heavy  head,  or  whether  a  perverted 
sense  of  humour  prompted  him  to  give  Rue  the  idea  that 
she  had  been  in  godly  company,  it  is  difficult  to  deter 
mine. 

He  added  that  Miss  Carew  was  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman  and  a  missionary.  And  the  Parson  took  his 
cue.  At  any  rate  Rue,  leaning  from  her  seat,  listened 
to  the  persuasive  and  finely  modulated  voice  of  Parson 
Smawley  with  pleasure,  and  found  his  sleek,  graceful 
presence  and  courtly  manners  most  agreeable.  There 
were  no  such  persons  in  Gayfield. 

She  hoped,  shyly,  that  if  he  were  in  Gayfield  he  would 
call  on  her  father.  Once  in  a  very  long  while  clergy 
men  called  on  her  father,  and  their  rare  visits  remained 
a  pleasure  to  the  lonely  invalid  for  months. 

The  Parson  promised  to  call,  very  gravely.  It  would 
not  have  embarrassed  him  to  do  so;  it  was  his  business 
in  life  to  have  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  every  man's  busi 
ness  to  enable  him  to  converse  convincingly  with  any 
body. 

He  took  polished  leave  of  her ;  took  leave  of  Brandes 
with  the  faintest  flutter  of  one  eyelid,  as  though  he  un 
derstood  Brandes'  game.  Which  he  did  not;  nor  did 
Brandes  himself,  entirely. 

They  had  thirty  miles  to  go  in  the  runabout.  So 
they  would  not  remain  to  dinner.  Besides,  Brandes  did 
not  care  to  make  himself  conspicuous  in  public  just 
then.  Too  many  people  knew  more  or  less  about  him 
— the  sort  of  people  who  might  possibly  be  in  communi 
cation  with  his  wife.  There  was  no  use  slapping  chance 
in  the  face.  Two  quiet  visits  to  the  races  with  Ruhan- 

83 


THE  DARK  STAR 


nah  was  enough  for  the  present.  Even  those  two  visits 
were  scarcely  discreet.  It  was  time  to  go. 

Stull  and  Brandes  stood  consulting  together  beside 
the  runabout ;  Rue  sat  in  the  machine  watching  the 
press  of  carriages  and  automobiles  on  Broadway,  and 
the  thronged  sidewalks  along  which  brilliant,  animated 
crowds  were  pouring. 

"I'm  not  coming  again,  Ben,"  said  Brandes,  dropping 
his  voice.  "No  use  to  hunt  the  limelight  just  now. 
You  can't  tell  what  some  of  these  people  might  do.  I'll 
take  no  chances  that  some  fresh  guy  might  try  to  start 
something." 

"Stir  up  Minna?"  Stull's  lips  merely  formed  the 
question,  and  his  eyes  watched  Ruhannah. 

"They  couldn't.  What  would  she  care?  All  the 
same,  I  play  safe,  Ben.  Well,  be  good.  Better  send  me 
mine  on  pay  day.  I'll  need  it." 

Stull's  face  grew  sourer: 

"Can't  you  wait  till  she  gets  her  decree?" 

"And  lose  a  month  off?     No." 

"It's  all  coming  your  way,  Eddie.  Stay  wise  and 
play  safe.  Don't  start  anything  now " 

"It's  safe.  If  I  don't  take  September  off  I  wait  a 
y ear  for  my — honeymoon.  And  I  won't.  See?" 

They  both  looked  cautiously  at  Ruhannah,  who  sat 
motionless,  absorbed  in  the  turmoil  of  vehicles  and 
people. 

Brandes'  face  slowly  reddened ;  he  dropped  one  hand 
on  Stull's  shoulder  and  said,  between  thin  lips  that 
scarcely  moved: 

"She's  all  I'm  interested  in.  You  don't  think  much 
of  her,  Ben.  She  isn't  painted.  She  isn't  dolled  up  the 
way  you  like  'em.  But  there  isn't  anything  else  that 
matters  very  much  to  me.  All  I  want  in  the  world  is 

84 


A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 


sitting  in  that  runabout,  looking  out  of  her  kid  eyes  at 
a  thousand  or  two  people  who  ain't  worth  the  pair  of 
run-down  shoes  she's  wearing." 

But  Stull's  expression  remained  sardonic  and  un 
convinced. 

So  Brandes  got  into  his  car  and  took  the  wheel;  and 
Stull  watched  them  threading  a  tortuous  path  through 
the  traffic  tangle  of  Broadway. 

They  sped  past  the  great  hotels,  along  crowded 
sidewalks,  along  the  park,  and  out  into  an  endless 
stretch  of  highway  where  hundreds  of  other  cars  were 
travelling  in 'the  same  direction. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time?"  he  inquired,  shifting 
his  cigar  and  keeping  his  narrow  eyes  on  the  road. 

"Yes  ;  it  was  beautiful — exciting." 

"Some  horse,  Nick  Stoner!     Some  race,  eh?" 

"I  was  so  excited — with  everybody  standing  up  and 
shouting.  And  such  beautiful  horses — and  such  pretty 
women  in  their  wonderful  dresses !  I — I  never  knew 
there  were  such  things." 

He  swung  the  car,  sent  it  rushing  past  a  lumbering 
limousine,  slowed  a  little,  gripped  his  cigar  between  his 
teeth,  and  watched  the  road,  both  hands  on  the  wheel. 

Yes,  things  were  coming  his  way — coming  faster  and 
faster  all  the  while.  He  had  waited  many  years  for 
this — for  material  fortune — for  that  chance  which 
every  gambler  waits  to  seize  when  the  psychological  sec 
ond  ticks  out.  But  he  never  had  expected  that  the 
chance  was  to  include  a  very  young  girl  in  a  country- 
made  dress  and  hat. 

As  they  sped  westward  the  freshening  wind  from  dis 
tant  pine  woods  whipped  their  cheeks ;  north,  blue  hills 
and  bluer  mountains  beyond  took  fairy  shape  against 
the  sky;  and  over  all  spread  the  tremendous  heavens 

85 


THE  DARK  STAR 


where  fleets  of  white  clouds  sailed  the  uncharted  wastes, 
and  other  fleets  glimmered  beyond  the  edges  of  the 
world,  hull  down,  on  vast  horizons. 

"I  want  to  make  you  happy,"  said  Brandes  in  his 
low,  even  voice.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  most  honest  state 
ment  he  had  ever  uttered. 

Ruhannah  remained  silent,  her  eyes  riveted  on  the 
far  horizon. 

It  was  a  week  later,  one  hot  evening,  that  he  tele 
graphed  to  Stull  in  Saratoga : 

"Find  me  a  chauffeur  who  will  be  willing  to  go 
abroad.  I'll  give  you  twenty-four  hours  to  get  him 
here." 

The  next  morning  he  called  up  Stull  on  the  telephone 
from  the  drug  store  in  Gayfield : 

"Get  my  wire,  Ben?" 

"Yes.     But  I " 

"Wait.  Here's  a  postscript.  I  also  want  Parson 
Smawley.  I  want  him  to  get  a  car  and  come  over  to 
the  Gayfield  House.  Tell  him  I  count  on  him.  And 
he's  to  wear  black  and  a  white  tie." 

"Yes.     But  about  that  chauffeur  you  want " 

"Don't  argue.  Have  him  here.  Have  the  Parson, 
also.  Tell  him  to  bring  a  white  tie.  Understand?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understand  you,  Eddie !  You  don't  want 
anything  of  me,  do  you !  Go  out  and  get  that  combi 
nation?  Just  like  that !  What'll  I  do?  Step  into  the 
street  and  whistle?" 

"It's  up  to  you.     Get  busy." 

"As  usual,"  retorted  Stull  in  an  acrid  voice.  "All 
the  same,  I'm  telling  you  there  ain't  a  chauffeur  you'd 
have  in  Saratoga.  Who  handed  you  that  dope?" 

"Try.  I  need  the  chauffeur  part  of  the  combine,  any- 

86 


A  CHANGE  IMPENDS 


way.  If  he  won't  go  abroad,  I'll  leave  him  in  town.  Get 
a  wiggle  on,  Ben.  How's  things?" 

"All  right.  We  had  War-axe  and  Lady  Johnson. 
Some  killing,  eh?  That  stable  is  winning  all  along. 
We've  got  Adriutha  and  Queen  Esther  today.  The 
Ocean  Belle  skate  is  scratched.  Doc  and  Cap  and  me 
is  thick  with  the  Legislature  outfit.  We'll  trim  'em  to 
night.  How  are  you  feeling,  Eddie?" 

"Never  better.  I'll  call  you  up  in  the  morning. 
Ding-dong !" 

"Wait!  Are  you  really  going  abroad?"  shouted 
Stull. 

But  Brandes  had  already  hung  up. 

He  walked  leisurely  back  to  Brookhollow  through  the 
sunshine.  He  had  never  been  as  happy  in  all  his  life. 


CHAPTER  IX 
NONRESISTANCE 

"LONG  distance  calling  you,  Mr.  Stull.  One  moment, 
please.  .  .  .  Here's  your  party,"  concluded  the  oper 
ator. 

Stull,  huddled  sleepily  on  his  bed,  picked  up  the  trans 
mitter  from  the  table  beside  him  with  a  frightful  yawn. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  inquired  sourly. 

"It's  me— Ben!" 

"Say,  Eddie,  have  a  heart,  will  you!  I  need  the 
sleep  —  — » 

Brandes'  voice  was  almost  jovial: 

"Wake  up,  you  poor  tout !    It's  nearly  noon " 

"Well,  wasn't  I  singing  hymns  with  Doc  and  Cap 
till  breakfast  time?  And  believe  me,  we  trimmed  the 
Senator's  bunch !  They've  got  their  transportation 
back  to  Albany,  and  that's  about  all " 

"Careful  what  you  say.  I'm  talking  from  the  Gay- 
field  House.  The  Parson  got  here  all  right.  He's  just 
left.  He'll  tell  you  about  things.  Listen,  Ben,  the 
chauffeur  you  sent  me  from  Saratoga  got  here  last 
evening,  too.  I  went  out  with  him  and  he  drives  all 
right.  Did  you  look  him  up  ?" 

"Now,  how  could  I  look  him  up  when  you  gave  me 
only  a  day  to  get  him  for  you?" 

"Did  he  have  references?" 

"Sure,  a  wad  of  them.     But  I  couldn't  verify  them." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"I  forget  his  name.  You  ought  to  know  it  by  now." 

88 


NONRESISTANCE 


"How  did  you  get  him?" 

"Left  word  at  the  desk.  An  hour  later  he  came  to 
my  room  with  a  couple  of  bums.  I  told  him  about  the 
job.  I  told  him  you  wanted  a  chauffeur  willing  to  go 
abroad.  He  said  he  was  all  that  and  then  some.  So 
I  sent  him  on.  Anything  you  don't  fancy  about 
him?" 

"Nothing,  I  guess.  He  seems  all  right.  Only  I  like 
to  know  about  a  man " 

"How  can  I  find  out  if  you  don't  give  me  time?" 

"All  right,  Ben.  I  guess  he'll  do.  By  the  way,  I'm 
starting  for  town  in  ten  minutes." 

"What's  the  idea?" 

"Ask  the  Parson.  Have  you  any  other  news  except 
that  you  killed  that  Albany  bunch  of  grafters?" 

"No.  .  .  .  Yes!  But  it  ain't  good  news.  I  was  go 
ing  to  call  you  soon  as  I  waked  up " 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"There  ain't  any  trouble — yet.  But  a  certain  party 
has  showed  up  here — a  very  smooth  young  man  whose 
business  is  hunting  trouble.  Get  me?" 

After  a  silence  Stull  repeated: 

"Get  me,  Eddie?" 

"No." 

"Listen.     A  certain  slippery  party " 

"Who,  damn  it?     Talk  out.     I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"Very  well,  then.     Maxy  Venem  is  here !" 

The  name  of  his  wife's  disbarred  attorney  sent  a  chill 
over  Brandes. 

"What's  he  doing  in  Saratoga?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  trying  to  find  out.  He  was  to  the  races  yester 
day.  He  seen  Doc.  Of  course  Doc  hadn't  laid  eyes  on 
you  for  a  year.  Oh,  no,  indeed !  Heard  you  was  some 
where  South,  down  and  out.  I  don't  guess  Maxy  was 

89 


THE  DARK  STAR 


fooled  none.     What  we  done  here  in  Saratoga  is  grow 
ing  too  big  to  hush  up " 

"What  we've  done?  Whad'ye  mean,  we?  I  told  you 
to  work  by  yourself  quietly,  Ben,  and  keep  me  out  of 
it." 

"That's  what  I  done.  Didn't  I  circulate  the  news 
that  you  and  me  had  quit  partnership?  And  even  then 
you  wouldn't  take  my  advice.  Oh,  no.  You  must  show 
up  here  at  the  track  with  a  young  lady 

"How  long  has  Maxy  Venem  been  in  Saratoga?" 
snapped  Brandes. 

"He  told  Doc  he  just  come,  but  Cap  found  out  he'd 
been  here  a  week.  All  I  hope  is  he  didn't  see  you  with 
the  Brookhollow  party " 

"Do  you  think  he  did?" 

"Listen,  Eddie.     Max  is  a  smooth  guy " 

"Find  out  what  he  knows!    Do  you  hear?" 

"Who?  Me?  Me  try  to  make  Maxy  Venem  talk? 
That  snake?  If  he  isn't  on  to  you  now,  that  would  be 
enough  to  put  him  wise.  Act  like  you  had  sense,  Eddie. 
Call  that  other  matter  off  and  slide  for  town " 

"I  can't,  Ben." 

"You  got  to !" 

"I  can't,  I  tell  you." 

"You're  nutty  in  the  head !  Don't  you  suppose  that 
Max  is  wise  to  what  I've  been  doing  here?  And  don't 
you  suppose  he  knows  damn  well  that  you're  back  of 
whatever  I  do?  If  you  ain't  crazy  you'll  call  that  party 
off  for  a  while." 

Brandes'  even  voice  over  the  telephone  sounded  a 
trifle  unnatural,  almost  hoarse: 

"I  can't  call  it  off.     It's  done." 

"What's  done?" 

"What  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  do." 

90 


NONRESISTANCE 


"That!" 

"The  Parson  married  us." 

"Oh !" 

"Wait!  Parson  Smawley  married  us,  in  church,  as 
sisted  by  the  local  dominie.  I  didn't  count  on  the 
dominie.  It  was  her  father's  idea.  He  butted  in." 

"Then  is  it— is  it ?" 

"That's  what  Pm  not  sure  about.  You  see,  the 
Parson  did  it,  but  the  dominie  stuck  around.  Whether 
he  got  a  half  nelson  on  me  I  don't  know  till  I  ask.  Any 
way,  I  expected  to  clinch  things — later — so  it  doesn't 
really  matter,  unless  Max  Venem  means  bad.  Does 
he,  do  you  think?" 

"He  always  does,  Eddie." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Well,  then,  I'll  wait  for  a  cable 
from  you.  And  if  I've  got  to  take  three  months  off 
in  Paris,  why  I've  got  to — that's  all." 

"Good  God!  What  about  Stein?  What  about  the 
theaytre?" 

"You'll  handle  it  for  the  first  three  months.  .  .  . 
Say,  I've  got  to  go,  now.  I  think  she's  waiting -" 

"Who?" 

"My— wife." 

"Oh !" 

"Yes.  The  chauffeur  took  her  back  to  the  house 
in  the  car  to  put  something  in  her  suitcase  that  she 
forgot.  I'm  waiting  for  her  here  at  the  Gayfield 
House.  We're  on  our  way  to  town.  Going  to  motor 
in.  Our  trunks  have  gone  by  rail." 

After  a  silence,  Stull's  voice  sounded  again,  tense, 
constrained : 

"You  better  go  aboard  tonight." 

"That's  right,  too." 

"What's  your  ship?" 

91 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Lusitania." 

"What'll  I  tell  Stein?" 

"Tell  him  I'll  be  back  in  a  month.  You  look  out  for 
my  end.  I'll  be  back  in  time." 

"Will  you  cable  me?" 

"Sure.  And  if  you  get  any  later  information  about 
Max  today,  call  me  at  the  Knickerbocker.  We'll  dine 
there  and  then  go  aboard." 

"I  get  you.  .  .  .  Say,  Eddie,  I'm  that  worried !  If 
this  break  of  yours  don't  kill  our  luck — 

"Don't  you  believe  it!  I'm  going  to  fight  for  what 
I  got  till  someone  hands  me  the  count.  She's  the  first 
thing  I  ever  wanted.  I've  got  her  and  I  guess  I  can 
keep  her.  .  .  .  And  listen :  there's  nothing  like  her  in 
all  God's  world !" 

"When  did  you  do— it?"  demanded  Stull,  coldly. 

"This  morning  at  eleven.  I  just  stepped  over  here 
to  the  garage.  I'm  talking  to  you  from  the  bar.  She's 
back  by  this  time  and  waiting,  I  guess.  So  take  care 
of  yourself  till  I  see  you." 

"Same  to  you,  Eddie.  And  be  leery  of  Max.  He's 
bad.  When  they  disbar  a  man  like  that  he's  twice  as 
dangerous  as  he  was.  His  ex-partner,  Abe  Grittle- 
feld,  is  a  certain  party's  attorney  of  record.  Ask  your 
self  what  you'd  be  up  against  if  that  pair  of  wolves 
get  started  after  you!  You  know  what  Max  would 
do  to  you  if  he  could.  And  Minna,  too !" 

"Don't  worry." 

"I  am  worrying!  And  you  ought  to.  You  know 
what  you  done  to  Max.  Don't  think  he  ever  forgets. 
He'll  do  you  if  he  can,  same  as  Minna  will." 

Brandes'  stolid  face  lost  a  little  of  its  sanguine  col 
our,  where  he  stood  in  the  telephone  box  behind  the 
bar  of  the  Gayfield  House. 

92 


NONRESISTANCE 


Yes,  he  knew  well  enough  what  he  had  once  done 
to  the  disbarred  lawyer  out  in  Athabasca  when  he  was 
handling  the  Unknown  and  Venem,  the  disbarred,  was 
busy  looking  out  for  the  Athabasca  Blacksmith,  furnish 
ing  the  corrupt  brains  for  the  firm  of  Venem  and  Grit- 
tlefeld,  and  paying  steady  court  to  the  prettiest  girl 
in  Athabasca,  Use  Dumont. 

And  Brandes'  Unknown  had  almost  killed  Max  Ven 
em' s  blacksmith ;  Brandes  had  taken  all  Venem's  money, 
and  then  his  girl;  more  than  that,  he  had  "made"  this 
girl,  in  the  theatrical  sense  of  the  word ;  and  he  had 
gambled  on  her  beauty  and  her  voice  and  had  won  out 
with  both. 

Then,  while  still  banking  her  salary  to  reimburse 
himself  for  his  trouble  with  her,  he  had  tired  of  her 
sufficiently  to  prove  unfaithful  to  his  marriage  vows 
at  every  opportunity.  And  opportunities  were  many. 
Venem  had  never  forgiven  him;  Use  Dumont  could  not 
understand  treachery ;  and  Venem's  detectives  furnished 
her  with  food  for  thought  that  presently  infuriated  her. 

And  now  she  was  employing  Max  Venem,  once  senior 
partner  in  the  firm  of  Venem  and  Grittlefeld,  to  guide 
her  with  his  legal  advice.  She  wanted  Brandes'  ruin, 
if  that  could  be  accomplished ;  she  wanted  her  freedom 
anyway. 

Until  he  had  met  Rue  Carew  he  had  taken  measures 
to  fight  the  statutory  charges,  hoping  to  involve  Venem 
and  escape  alimony.  Then  he  met  Ruhannah,  and  be 
came  willing  to  pay  for  his  freedom.  And  he  was  still 
swamped  in  the  vile  bog  of  charges  and  countercharges, 
not  yet  free  from  it,  not  yet  on  solid  ground,  when  the 
eternal  gambler  in  him  suggested  to  him  that  he  take 
the  chance  of  marrying  this  young  girl  before  he  was 
legally  free  to  do  so. 

93 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Why  on  earth  did  he  want  to  take  such  a  chance? 
He  had  only  a  few  months  to  wait.  He  had  never  before 
really  cared  for  any  woman.  He  loved  her — as  he 
understood  love — as  much  as  he  was  capable  of  loving. 
If  in  all  the  world  there  was  anything  sacred  to  him, 
it  was  his  sentiment  regarding  Rue  Carew.  Yet,  he 
was  tempted  to  take  the  chance.  Even  she  could  not 
escape  his  ruling  passion;  at  the  last  analysis,  even 
she  represented  to  him  a  gambler's  chance.  But  in 
Brandes  there  was  another  streak.  He  wanted  to  take 
the  chance  that  he  could  marry  her  before  he  had  a 
right  to,  and  get  away  with  it.  But  his  nerve  failed. 
And,  at  the  last  moment,  he  had  hedged,  engaging  Par 
son  Smawley  to  play  the  lead  instead  of  an  ordained 
clergyman. 

All  these  things  he  now  thought  of  as  he  stood  unde 
cided,  worried,  in  the  telephone  booth  behind  the  bar 
at  the  Gayfield  House.  Twice  Stull  had  spoken,  and 
had  been  bidden  to  wait  and  to  hold  the  wire. 

Finally,  shaking  off  the  premonition  of  coming  trou 
ble,  Brandes  called  again: 

"Ben?" 

"Yes,  I'm  listening." 

"I'll  stay  in  Paris  if  there's  trouble." 

"And  throw  Stein  down?" 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?" 

"Well,  you  can  wait,  can't  you?  You  don't  seem  to 
be  able  to  do  that  any  more,  but  you  better  learn." 

"All  right.     What  next?" 

"Make  a  quick  getaway.     Now!" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  at  once.  Keep  me  posted,  Ben.  Be 
good!" 

He  hung  up  and  went  out  to  the  wide,  tree- 
shaded  street  where  Ruhannah  sat  in  the  runabout 

94 


NONRESISTANCE 


awaiting  him,  and  the  new  chauffeur  stood  by  the  car. 

He  took  off  his  straw  hat,  pulled  a  cap  and  goggles 
from  his  pocket.  His  man  placed  the  straw  hat  in  the 
boot. 

"Get  what  you  wanted,  Rue?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"Been  waiting  long?" 

"I— don't  think  so." 

"All  right,"  he  said  cheerily,  climbing  in  beside  her. 
"I'm  sorry  I  kept  you  waiting.  Had  a  business  matter 
to  settle.  Hungry?" 

Rue,  very  still  and  colourless,  said  no,  with  a  me 
chanical  smile.  The  chauffeur  climbed  to  the  rumble. 

"I'll  jam  her  through,"  nodded  Brandes  as  the  car 
moved  swiftly  westward.  "We'll  lunch  in  Albany  on 
time." 

Half  a  mile,  and  they  passed  Neeland's  Mills,  where 
old  Dick  Neeland  stood  in  his  boat  out  on  the  pond  and 
cast  a  glittering  lure  for  pickerel. 

She  caught  a  glimpse  of  him — his  sturdy  frame, 
white  hair,  and  ruddy  visage — and  a  swift,  almost  wist 
ful  memory  of  young  Jim  Neeland  passed  through  her 
mind. 

But  it  was  a  very  confused  mind — only  the  bewildered 
mind  of  a  very  young  girl — and  the  memory  of  the  boy 
flashed  into  its  confusion  and  out  again  as  rapidly  as 
the  landscape  sped  away  behind  the  flying  car. 

Dully  she  was  aware  that  she  was  leaving  familiar 
and  beloved  things,  but  could  not  seem  to  realise  it 
— childhood,  girlhood,  father  and  mother,  Brookhollow, 
the  mill,  Gayfield,  her  friends,  all  were  vanishing  in 
the  flying  dust  behind  her,  dwindling,  dissolving  into  an 
infinitely  growing  distance. 

They  took  the  gradual  slope  of  a  mile-long  hill  as 

95 


THE  DARK  STAR 


swallows  take  the  air;  houses,  barns,  woods,  orchards, 
grain  fields,  flew  by  on  either  side ;  other  cars  approach 
ing  passed  them  like  cannon  balls ;  the  sunlit,  undulating 
world  flowed  glittering  away  behind ;  only  the  stainless 
blue  ahead  confronted  them  immovably — a  vast,  mag 
nificent  goal,  vague  with  the  mystery  of  promise. 

"On  this  trip,"  said  Brandes,  "we  may  only  have 
time  to  see  the  Loove  and  the  palaces  and  all  like  that. 
Next  year  we'll  fix  it  so  we  can  stay  in  Paris  and  you 
can  study  art." 

Ruhannah's  lips  formed  the  words,  "Thank  you." 

"Can't  you  learn  to  call  me  Eddie?"  he  urged. 

The  girl  was  silent. 

"You're  everything  in  the  world  to  me,  Rue." 

The  same  little  mechanical  smile  fixed  itself  on  her 
lips,  and  she  looked  straight  ahead  of  her. 

"Haven't  you  begun  to  love  me  just  a  little  bit,  Rue?" 

"I  like  you.     You  are  very  kind  to  us." 

"Don't  your  affection  seem  to  grow  a  little  stronger 
now?"  he  urged. 

"You  are  so  kind  to  us,"  she  repeated  gratefully ;  "I 
like  you  for  it." 

The  utterly  unawakened  youth  of  her  had  always 
alternately  fascinated  and  troubled  him.  Gambler  that 
he  was,  he  had  once  understood  that  patience  is  a 
gambler's  only  stock  in  trade.  But  now  for  the  first 
time  in  his  career  he  found  himself  without  it. 

"You  said,"  he  insisted,  "that  you'd  love  me  when 
we  were  married." 

She  turned  her  child's  eyes  on  him  in  faint  surprise: 

"A  wife  loves  her  husband  always,  doesn't  she?" 

"Do  you?" 

"I  suppose  I  shall.  ...  I  haven't  been  married  very 
long — long  enough  to  feel  as  though  I  am  really  mar- 

96 


NONRESISTANCE 


ried.  When  I  begin  to  realise  it  I  shall  understand,  of 
course,  that  I  love  you." 

It  was  the  calm  and  immature  reply  of  a  little  girl 
playing  house.  He  knew  it.  He  looked  at  her  pure, 
perplexed  profile  of  a  child  and  knew  that  what  he  had 
said  was  futile — understood  that  it  was  meaningless 
to  her,  that  it  was  only  confusing  a  mind  already  dazed 
— a  mind  of  which  too  much  had  been  expected,  too 
much  demanded. 

He  leaned  over  and  kissed  the  cold,  almost  colourless 
cheek;  her  little  mechanical  smile  came  back.  Then 
they  remembered  the  chauffeur  behind  them  and  Bran- 
des  reddened.  He  was  unaccustomed  to  a  man  on  the 
rumble. 

"Could  I  talk  to  mother  on  the  telephone  when  we 
get  to  New  York?"  she  asked  presently,  still  painfully 
flushed. 

"Yes,  darling,  of  course." 

"I  just  want  to  hear  her  voice,"  murmured  Rue. 

"Certainly.  We  can  send  her  a  wireless,  too,  when 
we're  at  sea." 

That  interested  her.  She  enquired  curiously  in  re 
gard  to  wireless  telegraphy  and  other  matters  concern 
ing  ocean  steamers. 

In  Albany  her  first  wave  of  loneliness  came  over  her 
in  the  stuffy  dining-room  of  the  big,  pretentious  hotel, 
when  she  found  herself  seated  at  a  small  table  alone 
with  this  man  whom  she  seemed,  somehow  or  other,  to 
have  married. 

As  she  did  not  appear  inclined  to  eat,  Brandes  began 
to  search  the  card  for  something  to  tempt  her.  And, 
glancing  up  presently,  saw  tears  glimmering  in  her  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  remained  dumb  as  though  stunned 

97 


THE  DARK  STAR 


by  some  sudden  and  terrible  accusation — for  a  mo 
ment  only.  Then,  in  an  unsteady  voice: 

"Rue,  darling.  You  must  not  feel  lonely  and  fright 
ened.  I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you.  Don't 
you  know  it?" 

She  nodded. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said  in  that  even,  concentrated  voice 
of  his  which  scarcely  moved  his  narrow  lips,  "I'm  just 
crazy  about  you.  You're  my  own  little  wife.  You're 
all  I  care  about.  If  I  can't  make  you  happy  somebody 
ought  to  shoot  me." 

She  tried  to  smile;  her  full  lips  trembled;  a  single 
tear,  brimming,  fell  on  the  cloth. 

"I — don't  mean  to  be  silly.  .  .  .  But — Brookhollow 
seems — ended — forever.  ..." 

"It's  only  forty  miles,"  he  said  with  heavy  joviality. 
"Shall  we  turn  around  and  go  back?" 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  an  odd  expression,  as 
though  she  hoped  he  meant  it ;  then  her  little  mechanical 
smile  returned,  and  she  dried  her  eyes  naively. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  cannot  seem  to  get  used  to  be 
ing  married,"  she  said.  "I  never  thought  that  getting 
married  would  make  me  so — so — lonely." 

"Let's  talk  about  art,"  he  suggested.  "You're  crazy 
about  art  and  you're  going  to  Paris.  Isn't  that  fine." 

"Oh,  yes " 

"Sure,  it's  fine.  That's  where  art  grows.  Artville 
is  Paris'  other  name.  It's  all  there,  Rue — the  Loove, 
the  palaces,  the  Latin  Quarter,  the  statues,  the 
churches,  and  all  like  that." 

"What  is  the  Louvre  like?"  she  asked,  tremulously, 
determined  to  be  brave. 

As  he  had  seen  the  Louvre  only  from  the  outside,  his 
imaginary  description  was  cautious,  general,  and  brief. 

98 


NONRESISTANCE 


After  a  silence,  Rue  asked  whether  he  thought  that 
their  suitcases  were  quite  safe. 

"Certainly,"  he  smiled.     "I  checked  them." 

"And  you're  sure  they  are  safe?" 

"Of  course,  darling.     What  worries  you?" 

And,  as  she  hesitated,  he  remembered  that  she  had 
forgotten  to  put  something  into  her  suitcase  and  that 
the  chauffeur  had  driven  her  back  to  the  house  to  get 
it  while  he  himself  went  into  the  Gayfield  House  to 
telephone  Stull. 

"What  was  it  you  went  back  for,  Rue  ?"  he  asked. 

"One  thing  I  went  back  for  was  my  money." 

"Money?    What  money?" 

"Money  my  grandmother  left  me.  I  was  to  have  it 
when  I  married — six  thousand  dollars." 

"You  mean  you  have  it  in  your  suitcase?"  he  asked, 
astonished. 

"Yes,  half  of  it." 

"A  cheque?" 

"No,  in  hundreds." 

"Bills?" 

"Yes.  I  gave  father  three  thousand.  I  kept  three 
thousand." 

"In  bills,"  he  repeated,  laughing.  "Is  your  suitcase 
locked?" 

"Yes.  I  insisted  on  having  my  money  in  cash.  So 
Mr.  Wexall,  of  the  Mohawk  Bank,  sent  a  messenger 
with  it  last  evening." 

"But,"  he  asked,  still  immensely  amused,  "why  do 
you  want  to  travel  about  with  three  thousand  dollars 
in  bills  in  your  suitcase?" 

She  flushed  a  little,  tried  to  smile : 

"I  don't  know  why.  I  never  before  had  any  money. 
It  is — pleasant  to  know  I  have  it." 

99 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"But  I'll  give  you  all  you  want,  Rue." 

"Thank  you.   ...   I  have  my  own,  you  see." 

"Of  course.  Put  it  away  in  some  bank.  When  you 
want  pin  money,  ask  me." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  troubled  smile. 

"I  couldn't  ask  anybody  for  money,"  she  ex 
plained. 

"Then  you  don't  have  to.    We'll  fix  your  allowance." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  have  my  money,  and  I  don't 
need  it." 

This  seemed  to  amuse  him  tremendously;  and  even 
Rue  laughed  a  little. 

"You  are  going  to  take  your  money  to  Paris?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes." 

"To  buy  things?" 

"Oh,  no.     Just  to  have  it  with  me." 

His  rather  agreeable  laughter  sounded  again. 

"So  that  was  what  you  forgot  to  put  in  your  suit 
case,"  he  said.  "No  wonder  you  went  back  for  it." 

"There  was  something  else  very  important,  too." 

"What,  darling?" 

"My  drawings,"  she  explained  innocently. 

"Your  drawings !  Do  you  mean  you've  got  them, 
too?" 

"Yes.  I  want  to  take  them  to  Paris  and  compare 
them  with  the  pictures  I  shall  see  there.  It  ought  to 
teach  me  a  great  deal.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Are  you  crazy  to  study?"  he  asked,  touched  to  the 
quick  by  her  utter  ignorance. 

"It's  all  I  dream  about.  If  I  could  work  that  way 
and  support  myself  and  my  father  and  mother 

"But,  Rue !  Wake  up !  We're  married,  little  girl. 
You  don't  have  to  work  to  support  anybody!" 

100 


NONRESISTANCE 


"I — forgot,"  said  the  girl  vaguely,  her  confused 
grey  eyes  resting  on  his  laughing,  greenish  ones, 

Still  laughing,  he  summoned' the 'Waiter,  paici  the 
reckoning;  Ruhannah  rose  as  he  did;  they  went  slowly 
out  together. 

On  the  sidewalk  beside  their  car  stood  the  new  chauf 
feur,  smoking  a  cigarette  which  he  threw  away  without 
haste  when  he  caught  sight  of  them.  However,  he 
touched  the  peak  of  his  cap  civilly,  with  his  forefinger. 

Brandes,  lighting  a  cigar,  let  his  slow  eyes  rest  on 
the  new  man  for  a  moment.  Then  he  helped  Rue  into 
the  tonneau,  got  in  after  her,  and  thoughtfully  took  the 
wheel,  conscious  that  there  was  something  or  other 
about  his  new  chauffeur  that  he  did  not  find  entirely  to 
his  liking. 


CHAPTER  X 

DRIVING  HEAD-ON 

IT  was  mid-afternoon  when  they  began  to  pass 
through  that  series  of  suburbs  which  the  city  has  flung 
like  a  single  tentacle  northward  for  a  hundred  miles 
along  the  eastern  banks  of  the  Hudson. 

A  smooth  road  of  bluestone  with  a  surface  like  velvet, 
rarely  broken  by  badly  paved  or  badly  worn  sections, 
ran  straight  south.  Past  mansions  standing  amid  spa 
cious  lawns  all  ablaze  with  late  summer  and  early  au 
tumn  flowers  they  sped ;  past  parks,  long  stretches  of 
walls,  high  fences  of  wrought  iron  through  which  brief 
glimpses  of  woodlands  and  splendid  gardens  caught 
Rue's  eye.  And,  every  now  and  then,  slowing  down 
to  traverse  some  village  square  and  emerging  from 
the  further  limits,  the  great  river  flashed  into  view, 
sometimes  glassy  still  under  high  headlands  or  along 
towering  parapets  of  mountains,  sometimes  ruffled 
and  silvery  where  it  widened  into  bay  or  inland  sea, 
with  a  glimmer  of  distant  villages  on  the  further 
shore. 

Over  the  western  bank  a  blinding  sun  hung  in  a  sky 
without  a  cloud — a  sky  of  undiluted  azure ;  but  farther 
south,  and  as  the  sun  declined,  traces  of  vapours  from 
the  huge  but  still  distant  city  stained  the  heavens. 
Gradually  the  increasing  haze  changed  from  palest  lav 
ender  and  lemon-gold  to  violet  and  rose  with  smoulder 
ing  undertones  of  fire.  Beneath  it  the  river  caught  the 
stains  in  deeper  tones,  flowing  in  sombre  washes  of  flame 

102 


DRIVING  HEAD-ON 


or  spreading  wide  under  pastel  tints  of  turquoise  set 
with  purple. 

Now,  as  the  sun  hung  lower,  the  smoke  of  every  river 
boat,  every  locomotive  speeding  ulong  the  shores  below, 
lay  almost  motionless  above  the  water,  tinged  with  the 
delicate  enchantment  of  declining  day. 

And  into  this  magic  veil  Rue  was  passing  already 
through  the  calm  of  a  late  August  afternoon,  through 
tree-embowered  villages  and  towns,  the  names  of  which 
she  did  not  know — swiftly,  inexorably  passing  into  the 
iris-grey  obscurity  where  already  the  silvery  points  of 
arc-lights  stretched  away  into  intricate  geometrical  de 
signs — faint  traceries  as  yet  sparkling  with  subdued 
lustre  under  the  sunset  heavens. 

Vast  shadowy  shapes  towered  up  ahead — outlying 
public  buildings,  private  institutions,  industrial  plants, 
bridges  of  iron  and  steel,  the  ponderous  bowed  spans  of 
which  crossed  wildernesses  of  railroad  tracks  or  craft- 
crowded  waters. 

Two  enormous  arched  viaducts  of  granite  stretched 
away  through  sparkling  semi-obscurity — High  Bridge 
and  Washington  Bridge.  Then  it  became  an  increas 
ing  confusion  of  phantom  masses  against  a  fading  sky 
— bridges,  towers,  skyscrapers,  viaducts,  boulevards, 
a  wilderness  of  streets  outlined  by  the  growing  bril 
liancy  of  electric  lamps. 

Brandes,  deftly  steering  through  the  swarming  maze 
of  twilight  avenues,  turned  east  across  the  island,  then 
swung  south  along  the  curved  parapets  and  spreading 
gardens  of  Riverside  Drive. 

Perhaps  Brandes  was  tired;  he  had  become  uncom 
municative,  inclined  to  silence.  He  did  point  out  to 
her  the  squat,  truncated  mass  where  the  great  General 
slept;  called  her  attention  to  the  river  below,  where 

103 


THE  DARK  STAR 


three  grey  battleships  lay.  A  bugle  call  from  the  decks 
came  fairly  to  nor  ears*. 

If  Rue  was  tired  she  did  not  know  it  as  the  car  swept 
her  steadily  deeper  amid  the  city's  wonders. 

On  her  left,  beyond  the  trees,  the  great  dwellings 
and  apartments  of  the  Drive  were  already  glimmering 
with  light  in  every  window;  to  the  right,  under  the 
foliage  of  this  endless  necklace  of  parks  and  circles,  a 
summer-clad  throng  strolled  and  idled  along  the  river 
wall;  and  past  them  moved  an  unbroken  column  of 
automobiles,  taxicabs,  and  omnibuses. 

At  Seventy-second  Street  they  turned  to  the  east 
across  the  park,  then  into  Fifth  Avenue  south  once 
more.  She  saw  the  name  of  the  celebrated  avenue  on 
the  street  corner,  turned  to  glance  excitedly  at  Brandes  ; 
but  his  preoccupied  face  was  expressionless,  almost  for 
bidding,  so  she  turned  again  in  quest  of  other  delight 
ful  discoveries.  But  there  was  nothing  to  identify  for 
her  the  houses,  churches,  hotels,  shops,  on  this  endless 
and  bewildering  avenue  of  grey  stone;  as  they  swung 
west  into  Forty-second  Street,  she  caught  sight  of  the 
great  marble  mass  of  the  Library,  but  had  no  idea  what 
it  was. 

Into  this  dusky  canon,  aflame  with  light,  they  rolled, 
where  street  lamps,  the  lamps  of  vehicles,  and  electric 
signs  dazzled  her  unaccustomed  eyes  so  that  she  saw 
nothing  except  a  fiery  vista  filled  with  the  rush  and 
roar  of  traffic. 

When  they  stopped,  the  chauffeur  dropped  from  the 
rumble  and  came  around  to  where  a  tall  head  porter 
in  blue  and  silver  uniform  was  opening  the  tonneau 
door. 

Brandes  said  to  his  chauffeur: 

"Here  are  the  checks.     Our  trunks  are  at  the  Grand 


DRIVING  HEAD-ON 


Central.    Get  them  aboard,  then  come  back  here  for  us 
at  ten  o'clock." 

The  chauffeur  lifted  his  hand  to  his  cap,  and  looked 
stealthily  between  his  fingers  at  Brandes. 

"Ten  o'clock,"  he  repeated ;  "very  good,  sir." 

Rue  instinctively  sought  Brandes'  arm  as  they  en 
tered  the  crowded  lobby,  then  remembered,  blushed,  and 
withdrew  her  hand. 

Brandes  had  started  toward  the  desk  with  the  in 
tention  of  registering  and  securing  a  room  for  the  few 
hours  before  going  aboard  the  steamer;  but  something 
halted  him — some  instinct  of  caution.  No,  he  would 
not  register.  He  sent  their  luggage  to  the  parcels 
room,  found  a  maid  who  took  Rue  away,  then  went  on 
through  into  the  bar,  where  he  took  a  stiff  whisky  and 
soda,  a  thing  he  seldom  did. 

In  the  toilet  he  washed  and  had  himself  brushed. 
Then,  emerging,  he  took  another  drink  en  passant, 
conscious  of  an  odd,  dull  sense  of  apprehension  for 
which  he  could  not  account. 

At  the  desk  they  told  him  there  was  no  telephone  mes 
sage  for  him.  He  sauntered  over  to  the  news  stand, 
stared  at  the  display  of  periodicals,  but  had  not  suffi 
cient  interest  to  buy  even  an  evening  paper. 

So  he  idled  about  the  marble-columned  lobby,  now 
crowded  with  a  typical  early-autumn  throng  in  quest 
of  dinner  and  the  various  nocturnal  amusements  which 
the  city  offers  at  all  times  to  the  frequenters  of  its 
thousand  temples. 

Rue  came  out  of  the  ladies'  dressing  room,  and  he 
went  to  her  and  guided  her  into  the  dining-room  on  the 
left,  where  an  orchestra  was  playing.  In  her  blue,  pro 
vincial  travelling  gown  the  slender  girl  looked  oddly  out 
of  place  amid  lace  and  jewels  and  the  delicate  tints 

105 


THE  DARK  STAR 


of  frail  evening  gowns,  but  her  cheeks  were  bright  with 
colour  and  her  grey  eyes  brilliant,  and  the  lights  touched 
her  thick  chestnut  hair  with  a  ruddy  glory,  so  that  more 
than  one  man  turned  to  watch  her  pass,  and  the  idly 
contemptuous  indifference  of  more  than  one  woman 
ended  at  her  neck  and  chin. 

What  Rue  ate  she  never  afterward  remembered.  It 
was  all  merely  a  succession  of  delicious  sensations  for 
the  palate,  for  the  eye,  for  the  ear  when  the  excellent 
orchestra  was  playing  some  gay  overture  from  one  of 
the  newer  musical  comedies  or  comic  operas. 

Brandes  at  times  seemed  to  shake  off  a  growing  de 
pression  and  rouse  himself  to  talk  to  her,  even  jest  with 
her.  He  smoked  cigarettes  occasionally  during  din 
ner,  a  thing  he  seldom  did,  and,  when  coffee  was  served, 
he  lighted  one  of  his  large  cigars. 

Rue,  excited  under  an  almost  childishly  timid  man 
ner,  leaned  on  the  table  with  both  elbows  and  linked 
fingers,  listening,  watching  everything  with  an  al 
most  breathless  intelligence  which  strove  to  compre 
hend. 

People  left;  others  arrived;  the  music  continued. 
Several  times  people  passing  caught  Brandes'  eye,  and 
bowed  and  smiled.  He  either  acknowledged  such  salutes 
with  a  slight  and  almost  surly  nod,  or  ignored  them 
altogether. 

,  One  of  his  short,  heavy  arms  lay  carelessly  along  the 
back  of  his  chair,  where  he  was  sitting  sideways  looking 
at  the  people  in  the  lobby — watching  with  that  same 
odd  sensation  of  foreboding  of  which  he  had  been 
conscious  from  the  first  moment  he  had  entered  the 
city  line. 

What  reason  for  apprehension  he  had  he  could  not 
understand.  Only  an  hour  lay  between  him  and  the 

106 


DRIVING  HEAD-ON 


seclusion  of  the  big  liner ;  a  few  hours  and  he  and  this 
girl  beside  him  would  be  at  sea. 

Once  he  excused  himself,  went  out  to  the  desk,  and 
made  an  inquiry.  But  there  was  no  telephone  or  tele 
graph  message  for  him ;  and  he  came  back  chewing  his 
cigar. 

Finally  his  uneasiness  drew  him  to  his  feet  again : 

"Rue,"  he  said,  "I'm  going  out  to  telephone  to  Mr. 
Stull.  It  may  take  some  little  time.  You  don't  mind 
waiting,  do  you?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Don't  you  want  another  ice  or  something?" 

She  confessed  that  she  did. 

So  he  ordered  it  and  went  away. 

As  she  sat  leisurely  tasting  her  ice  and  watching  with 
unflagging  interest  the  people  around  her,  she  noticed 
that  the  dining-room  was  already  three-quarters  empty. 
People  were  leaving  for  cafe,  theatre,  or  dance ;  few 
remained. 

Of  these  few,  two  young  men  in  evening  dress  now 
arose  and  walked  toward  the  lobby,  one  ahead  of  the 
other.  One  went  out;  the  other,  in  the  act  of  going, 
glanced  casually  at  her  as  he  passed,  hesitated,  halted, 
then,  half  smiling,  half  inquiringly,  came  toward  her. 

"Jim  Neeland!"  she  exclaimed  impulsively.  " — I 

mean  Mr.  Neeland "  a  riot  of  colour  flooding  her 

face.  But  her  eager  hand  remained  outstretched.  He 
took  it,  pressed  it  lightly,  ceremoniously,  and,  still 
standing,  continued  to  smile  down  at  her. 

Amid  all  this  strange,  infernal  glitter;  amid  a  city 
of  six  million  strangers,  suddenly  to  encounter  a  fa 
miliar  face — to  see  somebody — anybody — from  Gayfield 
— seemed  a  miracle  too  delightful  to  be  true. 

"You  are  Rue  Carew,"  he  said.  "I  was  not  certain 
107 


THE  DARK  STAR 


for  a  moment.     You  know  we  met  only  once  before." 

Rue,  conscious  of  the  startled  intimacy  of  her  first 
greeting,  blushed  with  the  memory.  But  Neeland  was 
a  tactful  young  man ;  he  said  easily,  with  his  very  en 
gaging  smile: 

"It  was  nice  of  you  to  remember  me  so  frankly  and 
warmly.  You  have  no  idea  how  pleasant  it  was  to 
hear  a  Gayfield  voice  greet  me  as  'Jim.' ' 

"I— didn't  intend  to " 

"Please  intend  it  in  future,  Rue.  You  don't  mind, 
do  you?" 

"No." 

"And  will  you  ever  forget  that  magnificent  winter 
night  when  we  drove  to  Brookhollow  after  the  party?" 

"I  have — remembered  it." 

"So  have  I.  .  .  .  Are  you  waiting  for  somebody  ?  Of 
course  you  are,"  he  added,  laughing.  "But  may  I  sit 
down  for  a  moment?" 

"Yes,  I  wish  you  would." 

So  he  seated  himself,  lighted  a  cigarette,  glanced  up 
at  her  and  smiled. 

"When  did  you  come  to  New  York?"  he  asked. 

"Tonight." 

"Well,  isn't  that  a  bit  of  luck  to  run  into  you  like 
this!  Have  you  come  here  to  study  art?" 

"No.  ...  Yes,  I  think,  later,  I  am  to  study  art 
here." 

"At  the  League?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Better  go  to  the  League,"  he  said.  "Begin  there 
anyway.  Do  you  know  where  it  is?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

He  called  a  waiter,  borrowed  pencil  and  pad,  and 
wrote  down  the  address  of  the  Art  Students'  League. 

108 


'& 


* 


DRIVING  HEAD-ON 


He  had  begun  to  fold  the  paper  when  a  second  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  added  his  own  address. 

"In  case  I  can  do  anything  for  you  in  any  way," 
he  explained. 

Rue  thanked  him,  opened  her  reticule,  and  placed 
the  folded  paper  there  beside  her  purse. 

"I  do  hope  I  shall  see  you  soon  again,"  he  said,  look 
ing  gaily,  almost  mischievously  into  her  grey  eyes. 
"This  certainly  resembles  fate.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Rue — this  reunion  of  ours?" 

"Fate?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes.  I  should  even  call  it  romantic.  Don't  you 
think  our  meeting  this  way  resembles  something  very 
much  like  romance?" 

She  felt  herself  flushing,  tried  to  smile : 

"It  couldn't  resemble  anything,"  she  explained  with 
quaint  honesty,  "because  I  am  sailing  for  Europe  to 
morrow  morning;  I  am  going  on  board  in  less  than  an 
hour.  And  also — also,  I " 

"Also?" — he  prompted  her,  amused,  yet  oddly 
touched  by  her  childishly  literal  reply. 

"I  am — married." 

"Good  Lord !"  he  said. 

"This  morning,"  she  added,  tasting  her  ice. 

"And  you're  sailing  for  Europe  on  your  honey 
moon!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  upon  my  word!  And 
what  is  your  ship?" 

"The  Lusitania," 

"Really!  I  have  a  friend  who  is  sailing  on  her — a 
most  charming  woman.  I  sent  flowers  to  her  only  an 
hour  ago." 

"Did  you?"  asked  Rue,  interested. 

"Yes.  She  is  a  widow — the  Princess  Mistchenka — a 
delightful  and  pretty  woman.  I  am  going  to  send  a 

109 


THE  DARK  STAR 


note  to  the  steamer  tonight  saying  that — that  my  very 
particular  friend,  Ruhannah  Carew,  is  on  board,  and 
won't  she  ask  you  to  tea.  You'd  love  her,  Rue.  She's  a 
regular  woman." 

"But — oh,  dear! — a  Princess!" 

"You  won't  even  notice  it,"  he  said  reassuringly. 
"She's  a  corker;  she's  an  artist,  too.  I  couldn't  begin 
to  tell  you  how  nice  she  has  been  to  me.  By  the  way, 
Rue,  whom  did  you  marry?" 

"Mr.  Brandes." 

"Brandes?  I  don't  remember — was  he  from  up 
state?" 

"No ;  New  York— I  think " 

As  she  bent  forward  to  taste  her  ice  again  he  noticed 
for  the  first  time  the  childlike  loveliness  of  her  throat 
and  profile;  looked  at  her  with  increasing  interest, 
realising  that  she  had  grown  into  a  most  engaging  crea 
ture  since  he  had  seen  her. 

Looking  up,  and  beyond  him  toward  the  door,  she 
said: 

"I  think  your  friend  is  waiting  for  you.  Had  you 
forgotten  him?" 

"Oh,  that's  so!"  he  exclaimed.  Then  rising  and 
offering  his  hand:  "I  wish  you  happiness,  Rue.  You 
have  my  address.  When  you  return,  won't  you  let  me 
know  where  you  are?  Won't  you  let  me  know  your 
husband  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Please  do.  You  see  you  and  I  have  a  common  bond 
in  art,  another  in  our  birthplace.  Gayfield  folk  are 
your  own  people  and  mine.  Don't  forget  me,  Rue." 

"No,  I  won't." 

So  he  took  his  leave  gracefully  and  went  away 
through  the  enthralling,  glittering  unreality  of  it  all, 

110 


DRIVING  HEAD-ON 


leaving  a  young  girl  thrilled,  excited,  and  deeply  im 
pressed  with  his  ease  and  bearing  amid  awe-inspiring 
scenes  in  which  she,  too,  desired  most  ardently  to  find 
herself  at  ease. 

Also  she  thought  of  his  friend,  the  Princess  Mis- 
tchenka.  And  again,  as  before,  the  name  seemed  to 
evoke  within  her  mind  a  recollection  of  having  heard 
it  before,  very  long  ago. 

She  wondered  whether  Neeland  would  remember  to 
write,  and  if  he  did  she  wondered  whether  a  real  prin 
cess  would  actually  condescend  to  invite  her  to  take  tea. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  BREAKERS 

THE  east  dining-room  was  almost  empty  now,  though 
the  lobby  and  the  cafe  beyond  still  swarmed  with  people 
arriving  and  departing.  Brandes,  chafing  at  the  tele 
phone,  had  finally  succeeded  in  getting  Stull  on  the  wire, 
only  to  learn  that  the  news  from  Saratoga  was  not 
agreeable;  that  they  had  lost  on  every  horse.  Also, 
Stull  had  another  disquieting  item  to  detail;  it  seemed 
that  Maxy  Venem  had  been  seen  that  morning  in  the  act 
of  departing  for  New  York  on  the  fast  express ;  and 
with  him  was  a  woman  resembling  Brandes'  wife. 

"Who  saw  her?"  demanded  Brandes. 

"Doc.  He  didn't  get  a  good  square  look  at  her.  You 
know  the  hats  women  wear." 

"All  right.     I'm  off,  Ben.     Good-bye." 

The  haunting  uneasiness  which  had  driven  him  to 
the  telephone  persisted  when  he  came  out  of  the  booth. 
He  cast  a  slow,  almost  sleepy  glance  around  him,  saw 
no  familiar  face  in  the  thronged  lobby,  then  he  looked 
at  his  watch. 

The  car  had  been  ordered  for  ten ;  it  lacked  half  an 
hour  of  the  time;  he  wished  he  had  ordered  the  car 
earlier. 

For  now  his  uneasiness  was  verging  on  that  species 
of  superstitious  inquietude  which  at  times  obsesses  all 
gamblers,  and  which  is  known  as  a  "hunch."  He  had 
a  hunch  that  he  was  "in  wrong"  somehow  or  other; 
an  overpowering  longing  to  get  on  board  the  steamer 


THE  BREAKERS 


assailed  him — a  desire  to  get  out  of  the  city,  get  away 
quick. 

The  risk  he  had  taken  was  beginning  to  appear  to 
him  as  an  unwarranted  piece  of  recklessness;  he  was 
amazed  with  himself  for  taking  such  a  chance — dis 
gusted  at  his  foolish  and  totally  unnecessary  course 
with  this  young  girl.  All  he  had  had  to  do  was  to  wait 
a  few  months.  He  could  have  married  in  safety  then. 
And  even  now  he  didn't  know  whether  or  not  the  cere 
mony  performed  by  Parson  Smawley  had  been  an  ille 
gally  legal  one ;  whether  it  made  him  a  bigamist  for  the 
next  three  months  or  only  something  worse.  What  on 
earth  had  possessed  him  to  take  sucn  a  risk — the  ter 
rible  hazard  of  discovery,  of  losing  the  only  woman  he 
had  ever  really  cared  for — the  only  one  he  probably 
could  ever  care  for?  Of  course,  had  he  been  free  he 
would  have  married  her.  When  he  got  his  freedom  he 
would  insist  on  another  ceremony.  He  could  persuade 
her  to  that  on  some  excuse  or  other.  But  in  the  mean 
while  ! 

He  entered  the  deserted  dining-room,  came  over  to 
where  Rue  was  waiting,  and  sat  down,  heavily,  holding 
an  unlighted  cigar  between  his  stubby  fingers. 

"Well,  little  girl,"  he  said  with  forced  cheerfulness, 
"was  I  away  very  long?" 

"Not  very." 

"You  didn't  miss  me?"  he  inquired,  ponderously 
playful. 

His  heavy  pleasantries  usually  left  her  just  a  little 
doubtful  and  confused,  for  he  seldom  smiled  when  he 
delivered  himself  of  them. 

He  leaned  across  the  cloth  and  laid  a  hot,  cushiony 
hand  over  both  of  hers,  where  they  lay  primly  clasped 
On  the  table  edge: 

113 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Don't  you  ever  miss  me  when  I'm  away  from  you, 
Rue?"  he  asked. 

"I  think — it  is  nice  to  be  with  you,"  she  said,  hotly 
embarrassed  by  the  publicity  of  his  caress. 

"I  don't  believe  you  mean  it."  But  he  smiled  this 
time.  At  which  the  little  rigid  smile  stamped  itself 
on  her  lips;  but  she  timidly  withdrew  her  hands  from 
his. 

"Rue,  I  don't  believe  you  love  me."  This  time  there 
was  no  smile. 

She  found  nothing-  to  answer,  being  without  any 
experience  in  give-and-take  conversation,  which  left  her 
always  uncertain  and  uncomfortable. 

For  the  girl  was  merely  a  creature  still  in  the  mak 
ing — a  soft,  pliable  thing  to  be  shaped  to  perfection 
only  by  the  light  touch  of  some  steady,  patient  hand 
that  understood — or  to  be  marred  and  ruined  by  a 
heavy  hand  which  wrought  at  random  or  in  brutal  haste. 

Brandes  watched  her  for  a  moment  out  of  sleepy, 
greenish  eyes.  Then  he  consulted  his  watch  again, 
summoned  a  waiter,  gave  him  the  parcels-room  checks, 
and  bade  him  have  a  boy  carry  their  luggage  into  the 
lobby. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table,  a  man  and  a  woman 
entering  the  lobby  caught  sight  of  them,  halted,  then 
turned  and  walked  back  toward  the  street  door  which 
they  had  just  entered. 

Brandes  had  not  noticed  them  where  he  stood  by  the 
desk,  scratching  off  a  telegram  to  Stull : 

"All  O.  K.     Just  going  aboard.     Fix  it  with  Stein." 

He  rejoined  Rue  as  the  boy  appeared  with  their  lug 
gage  ;  an  under  porter  took  the  bags  and  preceded  them 
toward  the  street. 

"There's  the  car !"  said  Brandes,  with  a  deep  breath 
114 


THE  BREAKERS 


of  relief.  "He  knows  his  business,  that  chauffeur  of 
mine." 

Their  chauffeur  was  standing  beside  the  car  as  they 
emerged  from  the  hotel  and  started  to  cross  the  side 
walk;  the  porter,  following,  set  their  luggage  on  the 
curbstone ;  and  at  the  same  instant  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  stepped  lightly  between  Rue  and  Brandes. 

"Good  evening,  Eddie,"  she  said,  and  struck  him  a 
staggering  blow  in  the  face  with  her  white-gloved  hand. 

Brandes  lost  his  balance,  stumbled  sideways,  recov 
ered  himself,  turned  swiftly  and  encountered  the  full, 
protruding  black  eyes  of  Maxy  Venem  staring  close 
and  menacingly  into  his. 

From  Brandes'  cut  lip  blood  was  running  down  over 
his  chin  and  collar;  his  face  remained  absolutely  ex 
pressionless.  The  next  moment  his  eyes  shifted,  met 
Ruhannah's  stupefied  gaze. 

"Go  into  the  hotel,"  he  said  calmly.     "Quick " 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  interrupted  Maxy  Venem, 
and  caught  the  speechless  and  bewildered  girl  by  the 
elbow. 

Like  lightning  Brandes'  hand  flew  to  his  hip  pocket, 
and  at  the  same  instant  his  own  chauffeur  seized  both 
his  heavy,  short  arms  and  held  them  rigid,  pinned  be 
hind  his  back. 

"Frisk  him !"  he  panted ;  Venem  nimbly  relieved  him 
of  the  dull  black  weapon. 

"Can  the  fake  gun-play,  Eddie,"  he  said,  coolly  shov 
ing  aside  the  porter  who  attempted  to  interfere. 
"You're  double-crossed.  We  got  the  goods  on  you; 
come  on;  who's  the  girl?" 

The  woman  who  had  struck  Brandes  now  came  up 
again  beside  Venem.  She  was  young,  very  pretty,  but 
deathly  white  except  for  the  patches  of  cosmetic  on 

115 


THE  DARK  STAR 


either  cheek.  She  pointed  at  Brandes.  There  was 
blood  on  her  soiled  and  split  glove: 

"You  dirty  dog!"  she  said  unsteadily.  "You'll  marry 
this  girl  before  I've  divorced  you,  will  you?  And  you 
think  you  are  going  to  get  away  with  it !  You  dog ! 
You  dirty  dog!" 

The  porter  attempted  to  interfere  again,  but  Venem 
shoved  him  out  of  the  way.  Brandes,  still  silently 
struggling  to  free  his  imprisoned  arms,  ceased  twisting 
suddenly  and  swung  his  heavy  head  toward  Venem.  His 
hat  had  fallen  off ;  his  face,  deeply  flushed  with  exertion, 
was  smeared  with  blood  and  sweat. 

"What's  the  idea,  you  fool!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"I'm  not  married  to  her." 

But  Ruhannah  heard  him  say  it. 

"You  claim  that  you  haven't  married  this  girl?"  de 
manded  Venem  loudly,  motioning  toward  Rue,  who 
stood  swaying,  half  dead,  held  fast  by  the  gathering 
crowd  which  pushed  around  them  from  every  side. 

"Did  you  marry  her  or  did  you  fake  it?"  repeated 
Venem  in  a  louder  voice.  "It's  jail  one  way;  maybe 
both !" 

"He  married  her  in  Gayfield  at  eleven  this  morning !" 
said  the  chauffeur.  "Parson  Smawley  turned  the 
trick." 

Brandes'  narrow  eyes  glittered;  he  struggled  for  a 
moment,  gave  it  up,  shot  a  deadly  glance  at  Maxy 
Venem,  at  his  wife,  at  the  increasing  throng  crowding 
closely  about  hiri.  Then  his  infuriated  eyes  met  Rue's, 
and  the  expression  of  her  face  apparently  crazed  him. 

Frantic,  he  hurled  himself  backward,  jerking  one  arm 
free,  tripped,  fell  heavily  with  the  chauffeur  on  top, 
twisting,  panting,  struggling  convulsively,  while  all 
around  him  surged  the  excited  crowd,  shouting,  press- 

116 


TPIE  BREAKERS 


ing  closer,  trampling-  one  another  in  eagerness  to  see. 

Rue,  almost  swooning  with  fear,  was  pushed,  jostled, 
flung  aside.  Stumbling  over  her  own  suitcase,  she  fell 
to  her  knees,  rose,  and,  scarce  conscious  of  what  she 
was  about,  caught  up  her  suitcase  and  reeled  away 
into  the  light-shot  darkness. 

She  had  no  idea  of  what  she  was  doing  or  where  she 
was  going;  the  terror  of  the  scene  still  remained  luridly 
before  her  eyes;  the  shouting  of  the  crowd  was  in  her 
ears;  an  indescribable  fear  of  Brandes  filled  her — a 
growing  horror  of  this  man  who  had  denied  that  he  had 
married  her.  And  the  instinct  of  a  frightened  and  be 
wildered  child  drove  her  into  blind  flight,  anywhere  to 
escape  this  hideous,  incomprehensible  scene  behind  her. 

Hurrying  on,  alternately  confused  and  dazzled  in  the 
patches  of  darkness  and  flaring  light,  clutched  at  and 
followed  by  a  terrible  fear,  she  found  herself  halted  on 
the  curbstone  of  an  avenue  through  which  lighted  tram- 
cars  were  passing.  A  man  spoke  to  her,  carne  closer ; 
and  she  turned  desperately  and  hurried  across  a  street 
where  other  people  were  crossing. 

From  overhead  sounded  the  roaring  dissonance  of 
an  elevated  train ;  on  either  side  of  her  phantom  shapes 
swarmed — figures  which  moved  everywhere  around  her, 
now  illumined  by  shop  windows,  now  silhouetted  against 
them.  And  always  through  the  deafening  confusion  in 
her  brain,  the  dismay,  the  stupefaction,  one  dreadful 
fear  dominated — the  fear  of  Brandes — the  dread  and 
horror  of  this  Judas  who  had  denied  her. 

She  could  not  drive  the  scene  from  her  mind — the 
never-to-be  forgotten  picture  where  he  stood  with  blood 
from  his  cut  lip  striping  his  fat  chin.  She  heard  his 
voice  denying  her  through  swollen  lips  that  scarcely 
moved — denying  that  he  had  married  her. 

117 


THE  DARK  STAR 


And  in  her  ears  still  sounded  the  other  voice — the 
terrible  words  of  the  woman  who  had  struck  him — an 
unsteady,  unreal  voice  accusing  him;  and  her  brain 
throbbed  with  the  horrible  repetition:  "Dirty  dog — 

dirty  dog — dirty  dog "  until,  almost  out  of  her 

mind,  she  dropped  her  bag  and  clapped  both  hands 
over  her  ears. 

One  or  two  men  stared  at  her.  A  taxi  driver  came 
from  beside  his  car  and  asked  her  if  she  was  ill.  But 
she  caught  up  her  suitcase  and  hurried  on  without 
answering. 

She  was  very  tired.  She  had  come  to  the  end  of  the 
lighted  avenue.  There  was  darkness  ahead,  a  wall, 
trees,  and  electric  lights  sparkling  among  the  foliage. 

Perhaps  the  sudc  jn  glimpse  of  a  wide  and  star-set 
sky  quieted  her,  calmed  her.  Freed  suddenly  from  the 
canon  of  the  city's  streets,  the  unreasoning  panic  of 
a  trapped  thing  subsided  a  little. 

Her  arm  ached ;  she  shifted  the  suitcase  to  her  other 
hand  and  looked  across  at  the  trees  and  at  the  high 
stars  above,  striving  desperately  for  self-command. 

Something  had  to  be  done.  She  must  find  some  place 
where  she  could  sit  down.  Where  was  she  to  find  it? 

For  a  while  she  could  feel  her  limbs  trembling;  but 
gradually  the  heavy  thudding  of  her  pulses  quieted; 
nobody  molested  her;  nobody  had  followed  her.  That 
she  was  quite  lost  did  not  matter ;  she  had  also  lost  this 
man  who  had  denied  her,  somewhere  in  the  depths  of 
the  confusion  behind  her.  That  was  all  that  mattered 
— escape  from  him,  from  the  terrible  woman  who  had 
struck  him  and  reviled  him. 

With  an  effort  she  checked  her  thoughts  and  strug 
gled  for  self-command.  Somewhere  in  the  city  there 

118 


THE  BREAKERS 


must  be  a  railroad  station  from  which  a  train  would 
take  her  home.  » 

With  the  thought  came  the  desperate  longing  for 
flight,  and  a  rush  of  tears  that  almost  choked  her. 
Nothing  mattered  now  except  her  mother's  arms ;  the 
rest  was  a  nightmare,  the  horror  of  a  dream  which  still 
threatened,  still  clutched  at  her  with  shadowy  and 
spectral  menace. 

For  a  moment  or  two  she  stood  there  on  the  curb, 
her  eyes  closed,  fighting  for  self-control,  forcing  her 
disorganized  brain  to  duty. 

Somebody  must  help  her  to  find  a  railroad  station 
and  a  train.  That  gradually  became  clear  to  her.  But 
when  she  realised  that,  a  young  man  sauntered  up  beside 
her  and  looked  at  her  so  intently  that  her  calmness 
gave  way  and  she  turned  her  head  sharply  to  conceal 
the  starting  tears. 

"Hello,  girlie,"  he  said.  "Got  anythin'  on  to 
night?" 

With  head  averted,  she  stood  there,  rigid,  dumb,  her 
tear-drenched  eyes  fixed  on  the  park;  and  after  one  or 
two  jocose  observations  the  young  man  became  dis 
couraged  and  went  away.  But  he  had  thrust  the  fear 
of  strangers  deep  into  her  heart ;  and  now  she  dared 
not  ask  any  man  for  information.  However,  when  two 
young  women  passed  she  found  sufficient  courage  to 
accost  them,  asking  the  direction  of  the  railroad  station 
from  which  trains  departed  for  Gayfield. 

The  women,  who  were  young  and  brightly  coloured 
in  plumage,  displayed  a  sympathetic  interest  at  once. 

"Gayfield?"  repeated  the  blonder  of  the  two.  "Gee, 
dearie,  I  never  heard  of  that  place." 

"Is  it  on  Long  Island?"  inquired  the  other. 

"No.     It  is  in  Mohawk  County." 
119 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"That's  a  new  one,  too.  Mohawk  County?  Never 
heard  of  it;  did  you,  Lil?" 

"Search  me !" 

"Is  it  up-state,  dearie?"  asked  the  other.  "You  bet 
ter  go  over  to  Madison  Avenue  and  take  a  car  to  the 
Grand  Central " 

"Wait,"  interrupted  her  friend;  "she  better  take  a 
taxi " 

"Nix  on  a  taxi  you  pick  up  on  Sixth  Avenue !"  And 
to  Rue,  curiously  sympathetic :  "Say,  you've  got  friends 
here,  haven't  you,  little  one?" 

"No." 

"What !    You  don't  know  anyone  in  New  York !" 

Rue  looked  at  her  dumbly ;  then,  of  a  sudden,  she 
remembered  Neeland. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  know  one  person." 

"Where  does  your  friend  live?" 

In  her  reticule  was  the  paper  on  which  he  had  writ 
ten  the  address  of  the  Art  Students'  League,  and,  as 
an  afterthought,  his  own  address. 

Rue  lifted  the  blue  silk  bag,  opened  it,  took  out  her 
purse  and  found  the  paper. 

"One  Hundred  and  Six,  West  Fifty-fifth  Street,"  she 
read;  "Studio  No.  10." 

"Why,  that  isn't  far !"  said  the  blonder  of  the  two. 
"We  are  going  that  way.  We'll  take  you  there." 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know  him  very  well 

"Is  it  a  man?" 

"Yes.     He  comes  from  my  town,  Gayfield." 

"Oh!  I  guess  that's  all  right,"  said  the  other  woman, 
laughing.  "You  got  to  be  leery  of  these  men,  little  one. 
Come  on;  we'll  show  you." 

It  was  only  four  blocks;  Ruhannah  presently  found 
herself  on  the  steps  of  a  house  from  which  dangled 

120 


"For  heaven's  sake !"  he  said.     "What  on  eartl 


THE  BREAKERS 


a  sign,  "Studios  and  Bachelor  Apartments  to 
Let." 

"What's  his  name?"  said  the  woman  addressed  as  LiL 

"Mr.  Neeland." 

By  the  light  of  the  vestibule  lantern  they  inspected 
the  letter  boxes,  found  Neeland's  name,  and  pushed 
the  electric  button. 

After  a  few  seconds  the  door  clicked  and  opened. 

"Now,  you're  all  right!"  said  Lil,  peering  into  the 
lighted  hallway.  "It's  on  the  fourth  floor  and  there 
isn't  any  elevator  that  I  can  see,  so  you  keep  on  going 
upstairs  till  your  friend  meets  you." 

"Thank  you  so  much  for  your  great  kindness " 

"Don't  mention  it.     Good  luck,  dearie!" 

The  door  clicked  behind  her,  and  Rue  found  herself 
alone. 

The  stairs,  flanked  by  a  massive  balustrade  of  some 
dark,  polished  wood,  ascended  in  spirals  by  a  short 
series  of  flights  and  landings.  Twice  she  rested,  her 
knees  almost  giving  way,  for  the  climb  upward  seemed 
interminable.  But  at  last,  just  above  her,  she  saw  a 
skylight,  and  a  great  stair-window  giving  on  a  court ; 
and,  as  she  toiled  up  and  stood  clinging,  breathless,  to 
the  banisters  on  the  top  landing,  out  of  an  open  door 
stepped  Neeland's  shadowy  figure,  dark  against  the 
hall  light  behind  him. 

"For  heaven's  sake !"  he  said.     "What  on  earth " 

The  suitcase  fell  from  her  nerveless  hand ;  she  swayed 
a  little  where  she  stood. 

The  next  moment  he  had  passed  his  arm  around  her, 
and  was  half  leading,  half  carrying  her  through  a 
short  hallway  into  a  big,  brilliantly  lighted  studio. 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  LIFE  LINE 

SHE  had  told  him  her  story  from  beginning  to  end, 
as  far  as  she  herself  comprehended  it.  She  was  lying 
sideways  now,  in  the  depths  of  a  large  armchair,  her 
cheek  cushioned  on  the  upholstered  wings. 

Her  hat,  with  its  cheap  blue  enamel  pins  sticking  in 
the  crown,  lay  on  his  desk;  her  hair,  partly  loosened, 
shadowed  a  young  face  grown  pinched  with  weariness; 
and  the  reaction  from  shock  was  already  making  her 
grey  eyes  heavy  and  edging  the  under  lids  with  bluish 
shadows. 

She  had  not  come  there  with  the  intention  of  telling 
him  anything.  All  she  had  wanted  was  a  place  in  which 
to  rest,  a  glass  of  water,  and  somebody  to  help  her  find 
the  train  to  Gayfield.  She  told  him  this ;  remained  reti 
cent  under  his  questioning;  finally  turned  her  haggard 
face  to  the  chairback  and  refused  to  answer. 

For  an  hour  or  more  she  remained  obstinately  dumb, 
motionless  except  for  the  uncontrollable  trembling  of 
her  body ;  he  brought  her  a  glass  of  water,  sat  watching 
her  at  intervals ;  rose  once  or  twice  to  pace  the  studio, 
his  well-shaped  head  bent,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  back,  always  returning  to  the  corner-chair  before 
the  desk  to  sit  there,  eyeing  her  askance,  waiting  for 
some  decision. 

But  it  was  not  the  recurrent  waves  of  terror,  the  ever 
latent  fear  of  Brandes,  or  even  her  appalling  loneliness 
that  broke  her  down ;  it  was  sheer  fatigue — nature's 

133 


A  LIFE  LINE 


merciless  third  degree — under  which  mental  and  physi 
cal  resolution  disintegrated — went  all  to  pieces. 

And  when  at  length  she  finally  succeeded  in  recon 
quering  self-possession,  she  had  already  stammered  out 
answers  to  his  gently  persuasive  questions — had  told 
him  enough  to  start  the  fuller  confession  to  which  he 
listened  in  utter  silence. 

And  now  she  had  told  him  everything,  as  far  as  she 
understood  the  situation.  She  lay  sideways,  deep  in  the 
armchair,  tired,  yet  vaguely  conscious  that  she  was  rest 
ing  mind  and  body,  and  that  calm  was  gradually  pos 
sessing  the  one,  and  the  nerves  of  the  other  were  grow 
ing  quiet. 

Listlessly  her  grey  eyes  wandered  around  the  big 
studio  where  shadowy  and  strangely  beautiful  but  in 
comprehensible  things  met  her  gaze,  like  iridescent,  in 
definite  objects  seen  in  dreams. 

These  radiantly  unreal  splendours  were  only  Nee- 
land's  rejected  Academy  pictures  and  studies;  a  few 
cheap  Japanese  hangings,  cheaper  Nippon  porcelains, 
and  several  shaky,  broken-down  antiques  picked  up  for 
a  song  here  and  there.  All  the  trash  and  truck  and 
dust  and  junk  characteristic  of  the  conventional  artist's 
habitation  were  there. 

But  to  Ruhannah  this  studio  embodied  all  the  won 
ders  and  beauties  of  that  magic  temple  to  which,  from 
her  earliest  memory,  her  very  soul  had  aspired — the 
temple  of  the  unknown  God  of  Art. 

Vaguely  she  endeavoured  to  realise  that  she  was  now 
inside  one  of  its  myriad  sanctuaries ;  that  here  under 
her  very  tired  and  youthful  eyes  stood  one  of  its  count 
less  altars;  that  here,  also,  near  by,  sat  one  of  those 
blessed  acolytes  who  aided  in  the  mysteries  of  its  won 
drous  service. 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Ruhannah,"  he  said,  "are  you  calm  enough  to  let 
me  tell  you  what  I  think  about  this  matter?" 

"Yes.     I  am  feeling  better." 

"Good  work !  There's  no  occasion  for  panic.  What 
you  need  is  a  cool  head  and  a  clear  mind." 

She  said,  without  stirring  from  where  she  lay  rest 
ing  her  cheek  on  the  chairback : 

"My  mind  has  become  quite  clear  again." 

"That's  fine !  Well,  then,  I  think  the  thing  for  you 
to  do  is '  He  took  out  his  watch,  examined  it,  re 
placed  it— "Good  Lord !"  he  said.  "It  is  three  o'clock !" 

She  watched  him  but  offered  no  comment.  He  went 
to  the  telephone,  called  the  New  York  Central  Station, 
got  General  Information,  inquired  concerning  trains, 
hung  up,  and  came  b&ck  to  the  desk  where  he  had  been 
sitting. 

"The  first  train  out  leaves  at  six  three,"  he  said.  "I 
think  you'd  better  go  into  my  bedroom  and  lie  down. 
I'm  not  tired ;  I'll  call  you  in  time,  and  I'll  get  a  taxi 
and  take  you  to  your  train.  Does  that  suit  you,  Ru- 
hannah  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  slightly. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

"I've  been  thinking.     I  can't  go  back." 

"Can't  go  back!     Why  not?" 

"I  can't." 

"You  mean  you'd  feel  too  deeply  humiliated?" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  my  own  disgrace.  I  was  think 
ing  of  mother  and  father."  There  was  no  trace  of  emo 
tion  in  her  voice ;  she  stated  the  fact  calmly. 

"I  can't  go  back  to  Brookhollow.  It's  ended.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  let  them  know  what  has  happened  to 


"What  did  you  think  of  doing?"  he  asked  uneasily. 


A  LIFE  LINE 


"I  must  think  of  mother — I  must  keep  my  disgrace 
from  touching  them — spare  them  the  sorrow — humilia 
tion "  Her  voice  became  tremulous,  but  she  turned 

around   and   sat   up   in   her   chair,   meeting   his   gaze 
squarely.     "That's  as  far  as  I  have  thought,"  she  said. 

Both  remained  silent  for  a  long  while.  Then  Ru- 
hannah  looked  up  from  her  pale  preoccupation: 

"I  told  you  I  had  three  thousand  dollars.  Why 
can't  I  educate  myself  in  art  with  that?  Why  can't 
I  learn  how  to  support  myself  by  art?" 

"Where?" 

"Here." 

"Yes.  But  what  are  you  going  to  say  to  your  pa 
rents  when  you  write?  They  suppose  you  are  on  your 
way  to  Paris." 

She  nodded,  looking  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"By  the  way,"  he  added,  "is  your  trunk  on  board 
the  Lusitama?" 

"Yes." 

"That  won't  do!    Have  you  the  check  for  it?" 

"Yes,  in  my  purse." 

"We've  got  to  get  that  trunk  off  the  ship,"  he  said. 
"There's  only  one  sure  way.  I'd  better  go  down  now, 
to  the  pier.  Where's  your  steamer  ticket?" 

"I — I  have  both  tickets  and  both  checks  in  my  bag. 
He — let  me  have  the  p-pleasure  of  carrying  them — 
Again  her  voice  broke  childishly,  but  the   threatened 
emotion  was  strangled  and  resolutely  choked  back. 

"Give  me  the  tickets  and  checks,"  he  said.  "I'll  go 
down  to  the  dock  now." 

She  drew  out  the  papers,  sat  holding  them  for  a  few 
moments  without  relinquishing  them.  Then  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his,  and  a  bright  flush  stained  her 
face: 

125 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Why  should  I  not  go  to  Paris  by  myself?"  she 
demanded. 

"You  mean  now?     On  this  ship?" 

"Yes.  Why  not?  I  have  enough  money  to  go  there 
and  study,  haven't  I?" 

"Yes.    But " 

"Why  not!"  she  repeated  feverishly,  her  grey  eyes 
sparkling.  "I  have  three  thousand  dollars;  I  can't 
go  back  to  Brookhollow  and  disgrace  them.  What 
does  it  matter  where  I  go?" 

"It  would  be  all  right,"  he  said,  "if  you'd  ever  had 
any  experience " 

"Experience!  What  do  you  call  what  I've  had  to 
day!"  She  exclaimed  excitedly.  "To  lose  in  a  single 
day  my  mother,  my  home — to  go  through  in  this  city 
what  I  have  gone  through — what  I  am  going  through 
now — is  not  that  enough  experience?  Isn't  it?" 

He  said: 

"You've  had  a  rotten  awakening,  Rue — a  perfectly 
devilish  experience.  Only — you've  never  travelled 

alone Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  lively 

friend,  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  was  sailing  on  the 
Lusitania;  and  he  remained  silent,  uncertain,  looking 
with  vague  misgivings  at  this  girl  in  the  armchair  op 
posite — this  thin,  unformed,  inexperienced  child  who 
had  attained  neither  mental  nor  physical  maturity. 

"I  think,"  he  said  at  length,  "that  I  told  you  I  had 
a  friend  sailing  on  the  Lusitania  tomorrow." 

She  remembered  and  nodded. 

"But  wait  a  moment,"  he  added.  "How  do  you 
know  that  this — this  fellow  Brandes  will  not  attempt  to 

sail  on  her,  also Something  checked  him,  for  in 

the  girl's  golden-grey  eyes  he  saw  a  flame  glimmer; 
something  almost  terrible  came  into  the  child's  still 


A  LIFE  LINE 


gaze;  and  slowly  died  out  like  the  afterglow  of  light 
ning. 

And  Neeland  knew  that  in  her  soul  something  had 
been  born  under  his  very  eyes — the  first  emotion  of 
maturity  bursting  from  the  chrysalis — the  flaming  con 
sciousness  of  outrage,  and  the  first,  fierce  assumption 
of  womanhood  to  resent  it. 

She  had  lost  her  colour  now;  her  grey  eyes  still  re 
mained  fixed  on  his,  but  the  golden  tinge  had  left  them. 

"7  don't  know  why  you  shouldn't  go,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

"I  am  going." 

"All  right!  And  if  he  has  the  nerve  to  go — if  he 
bothers  you — appeal  to  the  captain." 

She  nodded  absently. 

"But  I  don't  believe  he'll  try  to  sail.  I  don't  believe 
he'd  dare,  mixed  up  as  he  is  in  a  dirty  mess.  He's 
afraid  of  the  law,  I  tell  you.  That's  why  he  denied  mar 
rying  you.  It  meant  bigamy  to  admit  it.  Anyway,  I 
don't  think  a  fake  ceremony  like  that  is  binding ;  I  mean 
that  it  isn't  even  real  enough  to  put  him  in  jail.  Which 
means  that  you're  not  married,  Rue." 

"Does  it?"    r 

"I  think  so.  Ask  a  lawyer,  anyway.  There  may  be 
steps  to  take — I  don't  know.  All  the  same — do  you 
really  want  to  go  to  France  and  study  art?  Do  you 
really  mean  to  sail  on  this  ship?" 

"Yes." 

"You  feel  confidence  in  yourself?  You  feel  sure  of 
yourself?" 

"Yes." 

"You've  got  the  backbone  to  see  it  through?" 

"Yes.     It's  got  to  be  done." 

"All  right,  if  you  feel  that  way."    He  made  no  move, 


THE  DARK  STAR 


however,  but  sat  there  watching  her.  After  a  while  he 
looked  at  his  watch  again : 

"I'm  going  to  ring  up  a  taxi,"  he  said.  "You  might 
as  well  go  on  board  and  get  some  sleep.  What  time 
does  she  sail?" 

"At  five  thirty,  I  believe." 

"Well,  we  haven't  so  very  long,  then.  There's  my 
bedroom — if  you  want  to  fix  up." 

She  rose  wearily. 

When  she  emerged  from  his  room  with  her  hat  and 
gloves  on,  the  taxicab  was  audible  in  the  street  below. 

Together  they  descended  the  dark  stairway  up  which 
she  had  toiled  with  trembling  knees.  He  carried  her 
suitcase,  aided  her  into  the  taxi. 

"Cunard  Line,"  he  said  briefly,  and  entered  the  cab. 

Already  in  the  darkness  of  early  morning  the  city 
was  awake;  workmen  were  abroad;  lighted  tramcars 
passed  with  passengers ;  great  wains,  trucks,  and  coun 
try  wagons  moved  slowly  toward  markets  and  ferries. 

He  had  begun  to  tell  her  almost  immediately  all  that 
he  knew  about  Paris,  the  life  there  in  the  students' 
quarters,  methods  of  living  economically,  what  to  seek 
and  what  to  avoid — a  homily  rather  hurried  and  con 
densed,  as  they  sped  toward  the  pier. 

She  seemed  to  be  listening;  he  could  not  be  sure  that 
she  understood  or  that  her  mind  was  fixed  at  all  on 
what  he  was  saying.  Even  while  speaking,  numberless 
objections  to  her  going  occurred  to  him,  but  as  he  had 
no  better  alternatives  to  suggest  he  did  not  voice  them. 

In  his  heart  he  really  believed  she  ought  to  go  back 
to  Brookhollow.  It  was  perfectly  evident  she  would 
not  consent  to  go  there.  As  for  her  remaining  in  New 
York,  perhaps  the  reasons  for  her  going  to  Paris  were 
as  good.  He  was  utterly  unable  to  judge ;  he  only  knew 

128 


A  LIFE  LINE 


that  she  ought  to  have  the  protection  of  experience, 
and  that  was  lacking. 

"I'm  going  to  remain  on  board  with  you,"  he  said, 
"until  she  sails.  Pm  going  to  try  to  find  my  very  good 
friend,  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  and  have  you  meet 
her.  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  shall  ask  her 
to  keep  an  eye  on  you  while  you  are  crossing,  and  to 
give  you  a  lot  of  good  advice." 

"A — princess,"  said  Rue  in  a  tired,  discouraged 
voice,  "is  not  very  likely  to  pay  any  attention  to  me,  I 
think." 

"She's  one  of  those  Russian  or  Caucasian  princesses. 
You  know  they  don't  rank  very  high.  She  told  me  her 
self.  She's  great  fun — full  of  life  and  wit  and  intelli 
gence  and  wide  experience.  She  knows  a  lot  about 
everything  and  everybody ;  she's  been  everywhere,  trav 
elled  all  over  the  globe." 

"I  don't  think,"  repeated  Rue,  "that  she  would  care 
for  me  at  all." 

"Yes,  she  would.  She's  young  and  warm-hearted  and 
human.  Besides,  she  is  interested  in  art — knows  a  lot 
about  it — even  paints  very  well  herself." 

"She  must  be  wonderful." 

"No — she's  just  a  regular  woman.  It  was  because 
she  was  interested  in  art  that  she  came  to  the  League, 
and  I  was  introduced  to  her.  That  is  how  I  came  to 
know  her.  She  comes  sometimes  to  my  studio." 

"Yes,  but  you  are  already  an  artist,  and  an  in 
teresting  man " 

"Oh,  Rue,  I'm  just  beginning.  She's  kind,  that's 
all — an  energetic,  intelligent  woman,  full  of  interest  in 
life.  I  know  she'll  give  you  some  splendid  advice — tell 
you  how  to  get  settled  in  Paris — Lord!  You  don't 
even  know  French,  do  you?" 

129 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"No." 

"Not  a  word?" 

"No.  ...  I  don't  know  anything,  Mr.  Neeland." 

He  tried  to  laugh  reassuringly: 

"I  thought  it  was  to  be  Jim,  not  Mister,"  he  re 
minded  her. 

But  she  only  looked  at  him  out  of  troubled  eyes. 

In  the  glare  of  the  pier's  headlights  they  descended. 
Passengers  were  entering  the  vast,  damp  enclosure ; 
porters,  pier  officers,  ship's  officers,  sailors,  passed  t* 
and  fro  as  they  moved  toward  the  gangway  where,  in 
the  electric  glare  of  lamps,  the  clifflike  side  of  the 
gigantic  liner  loomed  up. 

At  sight  of  the  monster  ship  Rue's  heart  leaped, 
quailed,  leaped  again.  As  she  set  one  slender  foot  on 
the  gangway  such  an  indescribable  sensation  seized  her 
that  she  caught  at  Neeland's  arm  and  held  to  it,  al 
most  faint  with  the  violence  of  her  emotion. 

A  steward  took  the  suitcase,  preceded  them  down 
abysmal  and  gorgeous  stairways,  through  salons,  deep 
into  the  dimly  magnificent  bowels  of  the  ocean  giant, 
then  through  an  endless  white  corridor  twinkling  with 
lights,  to  a  stateroom,  where  a  stewardess  ushered 
them  in. 

There  was  nobody  there;  nobody  had  been  there. 

"He  dare  not  come,"  whispered  Neeland  in  Ruhan- 
nah's  ear. 

The  girl  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  stateroom  looking 
silently  about  her. 

"Have  you  any  English  and  French  money?"  he 
asked. 

"No." 

"Give  me — well,  say  two  hundred  dollars,  and  I'll 
have  the  purser  change  it." 

130 


A  LIFE  LINE 


She  went  to  her  suitcase,  where  it  stood  on  the 
lounge;  he  unstrapped  it  for  her;  she  found  the  big 
packet  of  treasury  notes  and  handed  them  to  him. 

"Good  heavens  !"  he  muttered.  "This  won't  do.  I'm 
going  to  have  the  purser  lock  them  in  the  safe  and  give 
me  a  receipt.  Then  when  you  meet  the  Princess  Mis 
tchenka,  tell  her  what  I've  done  and  ask  her  advice.  Will 
you,  Rue?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"You'll  wait  here  for  me,  won't  you?" 

"Yes." 

So  he  noted  the  door  number  and  went  away  hastily 
in  search  of  the  purser,  to  do  what  he  could  in  the 
matter  of  foreign  money  for  the  girl.  And  on  the 
upper  companionway  he  met  the  Princess  Mistchenka 
descending,  preceded  by  porters  with  her  luggage. 

"James !"  she  exclaimed.  "Have  you  come  aboard 
to  elope  with  me?  Otherwise,  what  are  you  doing  on 
the  Lusitarda  at  this  very  ghastly  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

She  was  smiling  into  his  face  and  her  daintily  gloved 
hand  retained  his  for  a  moment;  then  she  passed  her 
arm  through  his. 

"Follow  the  porter,"  she  said,  "and  tell  me  what 
brings  you  here,  my  gay  young  friend.  You  see  I  am 
wearing  the  orchids  you  sent  me.  Do  you  really  mean 
to  add  yourself  to  this  charming  gift?" 

He  told  her  the  story  of  Ruhannah  Carew  as  briefly 
as  he  could;  at  her  stateroom  door  they  paused  while 
he  continued  the  story,  the  Princess  Mistchenka  looking 
at  him  very  intently  while  she  listened,  and  never  utter 
ing  a  word. 

She  was  a  pretty  woman,  not  tall,  rather  below  middle 
stature,  perhaps,  beautifully  proportioned  and  per- 

131 


THE  DARK  STAR 


fectly  gowned.  Hair  and  eyes  were  dark  as  velvet ;  her 
skin  was  old  ivory  and  rose ;  and  always  her  lips  seemed 
about  to  part  a  little  in  the  faint  and  provocative 
smile  which  lay  latent  in  the  depths  of  her  brown  eyes. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  said,  "what  a  history  of  woe  you 
are  telling  me,  my  friend  James !  What  a  tale  of  inno 
cence  and  of  deception  and  outraged  trust  is  this  that 
you  relate  to  me !  Allans!  Vite!  Let  us  find  this  poor, 
abandoned  infant — this  unhappy  victim  of  your  sex's 
well-known  duplicity !" 

"She  isn't  a  victim,  you  know,"  he  explained. 

"I  see.  Only  almost — a — victim.  Yes?  Where  is 
this  child,  then?" 

"May  I  bring  her  to  you,  Princess?" 

"But  of  course !  Bring  her.  I  am  not  afraid — so 
far — to  look  any  woman  in  the  face  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning."  And  the  threatened  smile  flashed  out 
in  her  fresh,  pretty  face. 


When  he  came  back  with  Rue  Carew,  the  Princess 
Mistchenka  was  conferring  with  her  maid  and  with  her 
stewardess.  She  turned  to  look  at  Rue  as  Neeland  came 
up — continued  to  scrutinise  her  intently  while  he  was 
presenting  her. 

There  ensued  a  brief  silence ;  the  Princess  glanced  at 
Neeland,  then  her  dark  eyes  returned  directly  to  the 
young  girl  before  her,  and  she  held  out  her  hand, 
smilingly : 

"Miss  Carew — I  believe  I  know  exactly  what  your 
voice  is  going  to  be  like.  I  think  I  have  heard,  in 
America,  such  a  voice  once  or  twice.  Speak  to  me  and 
prove  me  right." 

Rue  flushed: 

"What  am  I  to  say?"  she  asked  naively. 
132 


A  LIFE  LINE 


"I  knew  I  was  right,"  exclaimed  the  Princess  Mis- 
tchenka  gaily.  "Come  into  my  stateroom  and  let  each 
one  of  us  discover  how  agreeable  is  the  other.  Shall 
we — my  dear  child?" 

When  Neeland  returned  from  a  visit  to  the  purser 
with  a  pocket  full  of  British  and  French  gold  and  silver 
for  Ruhannah,  he  knocked  at  the  stateroom  door  of 
the  Princess  Mistchenka. 

That  lively  personage  opened  it,  came  out  into  the 
corridor  holding  the  door  partly  closed  behind  her. 

"She's  almost  dead  with  fatigue  and  grief.  I  un 
dressed  her  myself.  She's  in  my  bed.  She  has  been 
crying." 

"Poor  little  thing,"  said  Neeland. 

"Yes." 

"Here's  her  money,"  he  said,  a  little  awkwardly. 

The  Princess  opened  her  wrist  bag  and  he  dumped 
in  the  shining  torrent. 

"Shall  I— call  good-bye  to  her?"  he  asked. 

"You  may  go  in,  James." 

They  entered  together;  and  he  was  startled  to  see 
how  young  she  seemed  there  on  the  pillows — how  piti 
fully  immature  the  childish  throat,  the  tear-flushed  face 
lying  in  its  mass  of  chestnut  hair. 

"Good-bye,  Rue,"  he  said,  still  awkward,  offering  his 
hand. 

Slowly  she  held  out  one  slim  hand  from  the  covers. 

"Good  voyage,  good  luck,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you 
would  write  a  line  to  me." 

"I  will." 

"Then "     He   smiled;   released  her  hand. 

"Thank  you  for — for  all  you  have  done,"  she  said. 
"I  shall  not  forget." 

133 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Something  choked  him  slightly ;  he  forced  a  laugh : 

"Come  back  a  famous  painter,  Rue.  Keep  your  head 
clear  and  your  heart  full  of  courage.  And  let  me  know 
how  you're  getting  on,  won't  you?" 

"Yes.  .    .    .  Good-bye." 

So  he  went  out,  and  at  the  door  exchanged  adieux 
with  the  smiling  Princess. 

"Do  you — like  her  a  little?"  he  whispered. 

"I  do,  my  friend.  Also — I  like  you.  I  am  old  enough 
to  say  it  safely,  am  I  not?" 

"If  you  think  so,"  he  said,  a  funny  little  laugh  in 
his  eyes,  "you  are  old  enough  to  let  me  kiss  you  good 
bye." 

But  she  backed  away,  still  smiling: 

"On  the  brow — the  hair — yes ;  if  you  promise  discre 
tion,  James." 

"What  has  tottering  age  like  yours  to  do  with  dis 
cretion,  Princess  Nai'a?"  he  retorted  impudently.  "A 
kiss  on  the  mouth  must  of  itself  be  discreet  when  be 
stowed  on  youth  by  such  venerable  years  as  are  yours." 

But  the  Princess,  the  singularly  provocative  smile 
still  edging  her  lips,  merely  looked  at  him  out  of  dark 
and  slightly  humorous  eyes,  gave  him  her  hand,  with 
drew  it  with  decision,  and  entered  her  stateroom,  clos 
ing  the  door  rather  sharply  behind  her. 


When  Neeland  got  back  to  the  studio  he  took  a  cou 
ple  of  hours'  sleep,  and,  being  young,  perfectly  healthy, 
and  perhaps  not  unaccustomed  to  the  habits  of  the 
owl  family,  felt  pretty  well  when  he  went  out  to  break 
fast. 

Over  his  coffee  cup  he  propped  up  his  newspaper 
against  a  carafe;  and  the  heading  on  one  of  the  col 
umns  immediately  attracted  his  attention. 

134 


.1.1 


A  LIFE  LINE 


ROW  BETWEEN  SPORTING  MEN 

EDDIE     BRANDES,     FIGHT     PROMOTER     AND 

THEATRICAL   MAN,   MIXES   IT  WITH 

MAXY   VENEM 

A  WOMAN  SAID  TO  BE   THE   CAUSE:   AFFEAY  DRAWS 

A  BIG  CROWD  IN  FRONT  OF  THE   HOTEL 

KNICKERBOCKER 

BOTH  MEN,  BADLY  BATTERED,    GET   AWAY  BEFORE    THE 
POLICE  ARRIVE 

Breakfasting  leisurely,  he  read  the  partly  humorous, 
partly  contemptuous  account  of  the  sordid  affair. 
Afterward  he  sent  for  all  the  morning  papers.  But 
in  none  of  them  was  Ruhannah  Carew  mentioned  at  all, 
nobody,  apparently,  having  noticed  her  in  the  exciting 
affair  between  Venem,  Brandes,  the  latter's  wife,  and 
the  chauffeur. 

Nor  did  the  evening  papers  add  anything  material 
to  the  account,  except  to  say  that  Brandes  had  been 
interviewed  in  his  office  at  the  Silhouette  Theatre  and 
that  he  stated  that  he  had  not  engaged  in  any  personal 
encounter  with  anybody,  had  not  seen  Max  Venem  in 
months,  had  not  been  near  the  Hotel  Knickerbocker, 
and  knew  nothing  about  the  affair  in  question. 

He  also  permitted  a  dark  hint  or  two  to  escape  him 
concerning  possible  suits  for  defamation  of  character 
against  irresponsible  newspapers. 

The  accounts  in  the  various  evening  editions  agreed, 
however,  that  when  interviewed,  Mr.  Brandes  was  nurs 
ing  a  black  eye  and  a  badly  swollen  lip,  which,  accord 
ing  to  him,  he  had  acquired  in  a  playful  sparring  en- 

135 


THE  DARK  STAR 


counter  with  his  business  manager,  Mr.  Benjamin  Stull. 
And  that  was  all ;  the  big  town  had  neither  time  nor 
inclination  to  notice  either  Brandes  or  Venem  any 
further;  Broadway  completed  the  story  for  its  own 
edification,  and,  by  degrees,  arrived  at  its  own  con 
clusions.  Only  nobody  could  discover  who  was  the 
young  girl  concerned,  or  where  she  came  from  or  what 
might  be  her  name.  And,  after  a  few  days,  Broadway, 
also,  forgot  the  matter  amid  the  tarnished  tinsel  and 
raucous  noises  of  its  own  mean  and  multifarious  pre 
occupations. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

NEELAND  had  several  letters  from  Ruhannah  Carew 
that  autumn  and  winter.  The  first  one  was  written  a 
few  weeks  after  her  arrival  in  Paris : 

DEAR   MR.   NEELAND: 

Please  forgive  me  for  writing  to  you,  but  I  am  home 
sick. 

I  have  written  every  week  to  mother  and  have  made 
my  letters  read  as  though  I  were  still  married,  because 
it  would  almost  kill  her  if  she  knew  the  truth. 

Some  day  I  shall  have  to  tell  her,  but  not  yet.  Could 
you  tell  me  how  you  think  the  news  ought  to  be  broken 
to  her  and  father? 

That  man  was  not  on  the  steamer.  I  was  quite  ill  cross 
ing  the  ocean.  But  the  last  two  days  I  went  on  deck  with 
the  Princess  Mistchenka  and  her  maid,  and  I  enjoyed  the 
sea. 

The  Princess  has  been  so  friendly.  I  should  have  died, 
I  think,  without  her,  what  with  my  seasickness  and  home 
sickness,  and  brooding  over  my  terrible  fall.  I  know  it 
is  immoral  to  say  so,  but  I  did  not  want  to  live  any  longer, 
truly  I  didn't.  I  even  asked  to  be  taken.  I  am  sorry  now 
that  I  prayed  that  way. 

Well,  I  have  passed  through  the  most  awful  part  of  my 
life,  I  think.  I  feel  strange  and  different,  as  though  I 
had  been  very  sick,  and  had  died,  and  as  though  it  were 
another  girl  sitting  here  writing  to  you,  and  not  the  girl 
who  was  in  your  studio  last  August. 

I  had  always  expected  happiness  some  day.  Now  I 
know  I  shall  never  have  it.  Girls  dream  many  foolish 
things  about  the  future.  They  have  such  dear,  silly  hopes. 

All  dreams  are  ended  for  me;  all  that  remains  in  life 
137 


THE  DARK  STAR 


for  me  is  to  work  very  hard  so  that  I  can  learn  to  sup 
port  myself  and  my  parents.  I  should  like  to  make  a 
great  deal  of  money  so  that  when  I  die  I  can  leave  it  to 
charity.  I  desire  to  be  remembered  for  my  good  works. 
But  of  course  I  shall  first  have  to  learn  how  to  take  care 
of  myself  and  mother  and  father  before  I  can  aid  the 
poor.  I  often  think  of  becoming  a  nun  and  going  out  to 
nurse  lepers.  Only  I  don't  know  where  there  are  any. 
Do  you? 

Paris  is  very  large  and  a  sort  of  silvery  grey  colour,, 
full  of  trees  with  yellowing  leaves — but  Oh,  it  is  so  lonely, 
Mr.  Neeland!  I  am  determined  not  to  cry  every  day, 
but  it  is  quite  difficult  not  to.  And  then  there  are  so 
many,  many  people,  and  they  all  talk  French!  They  talk 
very  fast,  too,  even  the  little  children. 

This  seems  such  an  ungrateful  letter  to  write  you,  who 
were  so  good  and  kind  to  me  in  my  dreadful  hour  of  trial 
and  disgrace.  I  am  afraid  you  won't  understand  how  full 
of  gratitude  I  am,  to  you  and  to  the  Princess  Mistchenka. 

I  have  the  prettiest  little  bedroom  in  her  house. 
There  is  a  pink  shade  on  my  night  lamp.  She  insisted 
that  I  go  home  with  her,  and  I  had  to,  because  I  didn't 
know  where  else  to  go,  and  she  wouldn't  tell  me.  In 
fact,  I  can't  ajp  anywhere  or  find  any  place  because  I 
speak  no  French  at  all.  It's  humiliating,  isn't  it,  for 
even  the  very  little  children  speak  French  in  Paris. 

But  I  have  begun  to  learn;  a  cheerful  old  lady  comes 
for  an  hour  every  day  to  teach  me.  Only  it  is  very  hard 
for  me,  because  she  speaks  no  English  and  I  am  forbidden 
to  utter  one  word  of  my  own  language.  And  so  far  I 
understand  nothing  that  she  says,  which  makes  me  more 
lonely  than  I  ever  was  in  all  my  life.  But  sometimes  it 
is  so  absurd  that  we  both  laugh. 

I  am  to  study  drawing  and  painting  at  a  studio  for 
women.  The  kind  Princess  has  arranged  it.  I  am  also 
to  study  piano  and  voice  culture.  This  I  did  not  suppose 
would  be  possible  with  the  money  I  have,  but  the  Princess 
Mistchenka,  who  has  asked  me  to  let  her  take  charge  of 
my  money  and  my  expenses,  says  that  I  can  easily  afford 
it.  She  knows,  of  course,  what  things  cost,  and  what  I 
am  able  to  afford;  and  I  trust  her  willingly  because  she 

138 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

is  so  dear  and  sweet  to  me,  but  I  am  a  little  frightened 
at  the  dresses  she  is  having  made  for  me.  They  can't 
be  inexpensive! — Such  lovely  clothes  and  shoes  and  hats — 
and  other  things  about  which  I  never  even  heard  in  Brook- 
hollow. 

I  ought  to  be  happy,  Mr.  Neeland,  but  everything  is  so 
new  and  strange — even  Sunday  is  not  restful;  and  how 
different  is  Notre  Dame  de  Paris  and  Saint  Eustache  from 
our  church  at  Gayfield!  The  high  arches  and  jewelled 
windows  and  the  candles  and  the  dull  roar  of  the  organ 
drove  from  my  mind  those  quiet  and  solemn  thoughts  of 
God  which  always  filled  my  mind  so  naturally  and  peace 
fully  in  our  church  at  home.  I  couldn't  think  of  Him; 
I  couldn't  even  try  to  pray ;  it  was  as  though  an  ocean  were 
rolling  and  thundering  over  me  where  I  lay  drowned  in  a 
most  deep  place. 

Well,  I  must  close,  because  dejeuner  is  ready — you  see 
I  know  one  French  word,  after  all!  And  one  other — 
"Bon jour,  monsieur!" — which  counts  two,  doesn't  it? — or 
three  in  all. 

It  has  made  me  feel  better  to  write  to  you.  I  hope  you 
will  not  think  it  a  presumption. 

And  now  I  shall  say  thank  you  for  your  great  kind 
ness  to  me  in  your  studio  on  that  most  frightful  night  of 
my  life.  It  is  one  of  those  things  that  a  girl  can  never, 
never  forget — your  aid  in  my  hour  of  need.  Through  all 
my  shame  and  distress  it  was  your  help  that  sustained  me; 
for  I  was  so  stunned  by  my  disgrace  that  I  even  forgot 
God  himself. 

But  I  will  prove  that  I  am  thankful  to  Him,  and  worthy 
of  your  goodness  to  me;  I  will  profit  by  this  dreadful 
humiliation  and  devote  my  life  to  a  more  worthy  and  lofty 
purpose  than  merely  getting  married  just  because  a  man 
asked  me  so  persistently  and  I  was  too  young  and  ignorant 
to  continue  saying  no!  Also,  I  did  want  to  study  art. 
How  stupid,  how  immoral  I  was! 

And  now  nobody  would  ever  want  to  marry  me  again 
after  this — and  also  it's  against  the  law,  I  imagine.  But 
I  don't  care;  I  never,  never  desire  to  marry  another  man. 
All  I  want  is  to  learn  how  to  support  myself  by  art; 
and  some  day  perhaps  I  shall  forget  what  has  happened 

139 


THE  DARK  STAR 


to  me  and  perhaps  find  a  little  pleasure  in  life   when  I 
am  very  old. 

With  every  wish  and  prayer  for  your  happiness  and 
success  in  this  world  of  sorrow,  believe  me  your  grateful 
friend,  RUE  CAREW. 

Every  naive  and  laboured  line  of  the  stilted  letter 
touched  and  amused  and  also  flattered  Neeland;  for 
no  young  man  is  entirely  insensible  to  a  young  girl's 
gratitude.  An  agreeable  warmth  suffused  him;  it 
pleased  him  to  remember  that  he  had  been  associated 
in  the  moral  and  social  rehabilitation  of  Rue  Carew. 

He  meant  to  write  her  some  kind,  encouraging  advice ; 
he  had  every  intention  of  answering*her  letter.  But  in 
New  York  young  men  are  very  busy ;  or  think  they  are. 
For  youth  days  dawn  and  vanish  in  the  space  of  a  fire 
fly's  lingering  flash;  and  the  moments  swarm  by  like 
a  flight  of  distracted  golden  butterflies;  and  a  young 
man  is  ever  at  their  heels  in  breathless  chase  with  as 
much  chance  of  catching  up  with  the  elusive  moment  as 
a  squirrel  has  of  outstripping  the  wheel  in  which  he 
whirls. 

So  he  neglected  to  reply — waited  a  little  too  long. 
Because,  while  her  childish  letter  still  remained  un 
answered,  came  a  note  from  the  Princess  Mistchenka, 
enclosing  a  tremulous  line  from  Rue: 

Mon  cher  JAMES: 

Doubtless  you  have  already  heard  of  the  sad  death  of 
Ruhannah's  parents — within  a  few  hours  of  each  other — 
both  stricken  with  pneumonia  within  the  same  week.  The 
local  minister  cabled  her  as  Mrs.  Brandes  in  my  care. 
Then  he  wrote  to  the  child;  the  letter  has  just  arrived. 

My  poor  little  protegee  is  prostrated — talks  wildly  of 
going  back  at  once.  But  to  what  purpose  now,  mon  ami? 
Her  loved  ones  will  have  been  in  their  graves  for  days  be 
fore  Ruhannah  could  arrive. 

140 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

No;  I  shall  keep  her  here.  She  is  young;  she  shall 
be  kept  busy  every  instant  of  the  day.  That  is  the  only 
antidote  for  grief;  youth  and  time  its  only  cure. 

Please  write  to  the  Baptist  minister  at  Gayfield,  James, 
and  find  out  what  is  to  be  done;  and  have  it  done.  Judge 
Gary,  at  Orangeville,  had  charge  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Carew's  affairs.  Let  him  send  the  necessary  papers  to 
Ruhannah  here.  I  enclose  a  paper  which  she  has  executed, 
conferring  power  of  attorney.  If  a  guardian  is  to  be 
appointed,  I  shall  take  steps  to  qualify  through  the  good 
offices  of  Lejeune  Brothers,  the  international  lawyers 
whom  I  have  put  into  communication  with  Judge  Gary 
through  the  New  York  representatives  of  the  firm. 

There  are  bound  to  be  complications,  I  fear,  in  regard 
to  this  mock  marriage  of  hers.  I  have  consulted  my  at 
torneys  here  and  they  are  not  very  certain  that  the  cere 
mony  was  not  genuine  enough  to  require  further  legal 
steps  to  free  her  entirely.  A  suit  for  annulment  is  possi 
ble. 

Please  have  the  house  at  Brookhollow  locked  up  and 
keep  the  keys  in  your  possession  for  the  present.  Judge 
Gary  will  have  the  keys  sent  to  you. 

James,  dear,  I  am  very  deeply  indebted  to  you  for 
giving  to  me  my  little  friend,  Ruhannah  Carew.  Now,  I 
wish  to  make  her  entirely  mine  by  law  until  the  inevitable 
day  arrives  when  some  man  shall  take  her  from  me. 

Write  to  her,  James;  don't  be  selfish. 
Yours    always, 

NAI'A. 

The  line  enclosed  from  Ruhannah  touched  him  deeply : 

I  cannot  speak  of  it  yet.  Please,  when  you  go  to  Brook- 
hollow,  have  flowers  planted.  You  know  where  our  plot 
is.  Have  it  made  pretty  for  them. 

RUE. 

He  wrote  at  once  exactly  the  sort  of  letter  that  an 
impulsive,  warm-hearted  young  man  might  take  time 
to  write  to  a  bereaved  friend.  He  was  genuinely 

141 


THE  DARK  STAR 


grieved  and  sorry  for  her,  but  he  was  glad  when  his 
letter  was  finished  and  mailed,  and  he  could  turn  his 
thoughts  into  other  and  gayer  channels. 

To  this  letter  she  replied,  thanking  him  for  what 
he  had  written  and  for  what  he  had  done  to  make  the 
plot  in  the  local  cemetery  "pretty." 

She  asked  him  to  keep  the  keys  to  the  house  in  Brook- 
hollow.  Then  followed  a  simple  report  of  her  quiet 
and  studious  daily  life  in  the  home  of  the  Princess 
Mistchenka ;  of  her  progress  in  her  studies  ;  of  her  hopes 
that  in  due  time  she  might  become  sufficiently  educated 
to  take  care  of  herself. 

It  was  a  slightly  dull,  laboured,  almost  emotionless 
letter.  Always  willing  to  shirk  correspondence,  he  per 
suaded  himself  that  the  letter  called  for  no  immediate 
answer.  After  all,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  a  very 
young  girl  whom  a  man  had  met  only  twice  in  his  life 
could  hold  his  interest  very  long,  when  absent.  How 
ever,  he  mear  \  to  write  her  again ;  thought  of  doing  so 
several  times  during  the  next  twelve  months. 

It  was  a  year  before  another  letter  came  from  her. 
And,  reading  it,  he  was  a  little  surprised  to  discover 
how  rapidly  immaturity  can  mature  under  the  shock 
of  circumstances  and  exotic  conditions  which  tend  to 
ward  forced  growth. 

MON  CHER  AMI: 

I  was  silly  enough  to  hope  you  might  write  to  me.  But  I 
suppose  you  have  far  more  interesting  and  important  mat 
ters  to  occupy  you. 

Still,  don't  you  sometimes  remember  the  girl  you  drove 
home  with  in  a  sleigh  one  winter  night,  ages  ago?  Don't 
you  sometimes  think  of  the  girl  who  came  creeping  up 
stairs,  half  dead,  to  your  studio  door?  And  don't  you 
sometimes  wonder  what  has  become  of  her? 

Why  is  it  that  a  girl  is  always  more  loyal  to  past  mem- 


'Mon  cher  ami,  I  was  silly  enough  to  hope  you  might  write 
to  me." 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 


ories  than  a  man  ever  is?  Don't  answer  that  it  is  because 
she  has  less  to  occupy  her  than  a  man  has.  You  have  no 
idea  how  busy  I  have  been  during  this  long  year  in  which 
you  have  forgotten  me. 

Among  other  things  I  have  been  busy  growing.  I  am 
taller  by  two  inches  than  when  last  I  saw  you.  Please  be 
impressed  by  my  five  feet  eight  inches. 

Also,  I  am  happy.  The  greatest  happiness  in  the  world 
is  to  have  the  opportunity  to  learn  about  that  same  world. 

I  am  happy  because  I  now  have  that  opportunity. 
During  these  many  months  since  I  wrote  to  you  I  have 
learned  a  little  French;  I  read  some,  write  some,  under 
stand  pretty  well,  and  speak  a  little.  What  a  pleasure, 
mon  ami! 

Piano  and  vocal  music,  too,  occupy  me;  I  love  both,  and 
I  am  told  encouraging  things.  But  best  and  most  delight 
ful  of  all  I  am  learning  to  draw  and  compose  and  paint 
from  life  in  the  Academic  Julian !  Think  of  it !  It  is 
difficult,  it  is  absorbing,  it  requires  energy,  persistence,  self- 
denial;  but  it  is  fascinating,  satisfying,  glorious. 

Also,  it  is  very  trying,  mon  ami;  and  I  descend  into 
depths  of  despair  and  I  presently  soar  up  out  of  those 
depressing  depths  into  intoxicating  altitudes  of  aspiration 
and  self-confidence. 

You  yourself  know  how  it  is,  of  course.  At  the  criticism 
today  I  was  lifted  to  the  seventh  heaven.  "Pas  mat/'  he 
said;  ee  continues  f  mademoiselle."  Which  is  wonderful  for 
him.  Also  my  weekly  sketch  was  chosen  from  among  all 
the  others,  and  I  was  given  number  one.  That  means  my 
choice  of  tabourets  on  Monday  morning,  voyez  vous?  So 
do  you  wonder  that  I  came  home  with  Suzanne,  walking 
on  air,  and  that  as  soon  as  dejeuner  was  finished  I  flew  in 
here  to  write  to  you  about  it? 

Suzanne  is  our  maid — the  maid  of  Princess  Na'ia,  of 
course — who  walks  to  and  from  school  with  me.  I  didn't 
wish  her  to  follow  me  about  at  first,  but  the  Princess  in 
sisted,  and  I'm  resigned  to  it  now. 

The  Princess  Mistchenka  is  such  a  darling!  I  owe  her 
more  than  I  owe  anybody  except  mother  and  father.  She 
simply  took  me  as  I  was,  a  young,  stupid,  ignorant,  awk 
ward  country  girl  with  no  experience,  no  savoir-faire,  no 

143 


THE  DARK  STAR 


clothes,  and  even  no  knowledge  of  how  to  wear  them; 
and  she  is  trying  to  make  out  of  me  a  fairly  intelligent 
and  presentable  human  being  who  will  not  offend  her  by 
gaucheries  when  with  her,  and  who  will  not  disgrace  her 
when  in  the  circle  of  her  friends. 

Oh,  of  course  I  still  make  a  faux  pas  now  and  then; 
mdn  ami;  there  are  dreadful  pitfalls  in  the  French 
language  into  which  I  have  fallen  more  than  once.  And 
at  times  I  have  almost  died  of  mortification.  But  every 
body  is  so  amiable  and  patient,  so  polite,  so  gay  about  my 
mistakes.  I  am  beginning  to  love  the  French.  And  I  am 
learning  so  much!  I  had  no  idea  what  a  capacity  I  had 
for  learning  things.  But  then,  with  Princess  Nai'a,  and 
with  my  kind  and  patient  teachers  and  my  golden  op 
portunities,  even  a  very  stupid  girl  must  learn  something. 
And  I  am  not  really  very  stupid;  I've  discovered  that.  On 
the  contrary,  I  really  seem  to  learn  quite  rapidly;  and 
all  that  annoys  me  is  that  there  is  so  much  to  learn  and 
the  days  are  not  long  enough,  so  anxious  am  I,  so  am 
bitious,  so  determined  to  get  out  of  this  wonderful  op 
portunity  everything  I  possibly  can  extract. 

I  have  lived  in  these  few  months  more  years  than  my 
own  age  adds  up !  I  am  growing  old  and  wise  very  fast. 
Please  hasten  to  write  to  me  before  I  have  grown  so  old 
that  you  would  not  recognize  me  if  you  met  me. 

Your  friend, 

RUHANNAH. 


The  letter  flattered  him.  He  was  rather  glad  he  had 
once  kissed  the  girl  who  could  write  such  a  letter. 

He  happened  to  be  engaged,  at  that  time,  in  drawing 
several  illustrations  for  a  paper  called  the  Midweek 
Magazine.  There  was  a  heroine,  of  course,  in  the  story 
he  was  illustrating.  And,  from  memory,  and  in  spite 
of  the  model  posing  for  him,  he  made  the  face  like  the 
face  of  Ruhannah  Carew. 

But  the  days  passed,  and  he  did  not  reply  to  her 
letter.  Then  there  came  still  another  letter  from  her: 

144 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 


Why  don't  you  write  me  just  one  line?  Have  you 
really  forgotten  me?  You'd  like  me  if  you  knew  me 
now,  I  think.  I  am  really  quite  grown  up.  And  I  am  so 
happy ! 

The  Princess  is  simply  adorable.  Always  we  are  busy, 
Princess  Nai'a  and  I ;  and  now,  since  I  have  laid  aside 
mourning,  we  go  to  concerts;  we  go  to  plays;  we  have 
been  six  times  to  the  opera,  and  as  many  more  to  the 
Theatre  Fran£ais;  we  have  been  to  the  Louvre  and  the 
Luxembourg  many  times;  to  St.  Cloud,  Versailles,  Fon- 
tainebleau. 

Always,  when  my  studies  are  over,  we  do  something  in 
teresting;  and  I  am  beginning  to  know  Paris,  and  to  care 
for  it  with  real  affection;  to  feel  secure  and  happy  and  at 
home  in  this  dear,  glittering,  silvery-grey  city — full  of 
naked  trees  and  bridges  and  palaces.  And,  sometimes 
when  I  feel  homesick,  and  lonely,  and  when  Brookhollow 
seems  very,  very  far  away,  it  troubles  me  a  little  to  find 
that  I  am  not  nearly  so  homesick  as  I  think  I  ought  to  be. 
But  I  think  it  must  be  like  seasickness;  it  is  too  frightful 
to  last. 

The  Princess  Mistchenka  has  nursed  me  through  the 
worst.  All  I  can  say  is  that  she  is  very  wonderful. 

On  her  day,  which  is  Thursday,  her  pretty  salon  is 
thronged.  At  first  I  was  too  shy  and  embarrassed  to  be 
anything  but  frightened  and  self-conscious  and  very  miser 
able  when  I  sat  beside  her  on  her  Thursdays.  Besides, 
I  was  in  mourning  and  did  not  appear  on  formal  occa 
sions. 

Now  it  is  different;  I  take  my  place  beside  her;  I  am 
not  self-conscious;  I  am  interested;  I  find  pleasure  in 
knowing  people  who  are  so  courteous,  so  considerate,  so 
gay  and  entertaining. 

Everybody  is  agreeable  and  gay,  and  I  am  sorry  that 
I  miss  so  much  that  is  witty  in  what  is  said;  but  I  am 
learning  French  very  rapidly. 

The  men  are  polite  to  me!  At  first  I  was  so  gauche, 
so  stupid  and  provincial,  that  I  could  not  bear  to  have  any 
body  kiss  my  hand  and  pay  me  compliments.  I've  made 
a  lot  of  other  mistakes,  too,  but  I  never  make  the  same 
mistake  twice. 

145 


THE  DARK  STAR 


So  many  interesting  men  come  to  our  Thursdays;  and 
some  women.  I  prefer  the  men,  I  think.  There  is  one 
old  French  General  who  is  a  dear;  and  there  are  young 
officers,  too;  and  yesterday  two  cabinet  ministers  and  sev 
eral  people  from  the  British  and  Russian  embassies.  And 
the  Turkish  Charge,  whom  I  dislike. 

The  women  seem  to  be  agreeable,  and  they  all  are  most 
beautifully  gowned.  Some  have  titles.  But  all  seem  to  be 
a  little  too  much  made  up.  I  don't  know  any  of  them  ex 
cept  formally.  But  I  feel  that  I  know  some  of  the  men 
better — especially  the  old  General  and  a  young  military 
attache  of  the  Russian  Embassy,  whom  everybody  likes 
and  pets,  and  whom  everybody  calls  Prince  Erlik — such 
a  handsome  boy!  And  his  real  name  is  Alak,  and  I  think 
he  is  very  much  in  love  with  Princess  Nai'a. 

Now,  something  very  odd  has  happened  which  I  wish 
to  tell  you  about.  My  father,  as  you  know,  was  mis 
sionary  in  the  Vilayet  of  Trebizond  many  years  ago. 
While  there  he  came  into  possession  of  a  curious  sea  chest 
belonging  to  a  German  named  Conrad  Wilner,  who  was 
killed  in  a  riot  near  Gallipoli. 

In  this  chest  were,  and  still  are,  two  very  interesting 
things — an  old  bronze  Chinese  figure  which  I  used  to  play 
with  when  I  was  a  child.  It  was  called  the  Yellow  Devil; 
and  a  native  Chinese  missionary  once  read  for  us  the 
inscription  on  the  figure  which  identified  it  as  a  Mongol 
demon  called  Erlik,  the  Prince  of  Darkness. 

The  other  object  of  interest  in  the  box  was  the  manu 
script  diary  kept  by  this  Herr  Wilner  to  within  a  few 
moments  of  his  death.  This  I  have  often  heard  read 
aloud  by  my  father,  but  I  forget  much  of  it  now,  and  I 
never  understood  it  all,  because  I  was  too  young.  Now, 
here  is  the  curious  thing  about  it  all.  The  first  time  you 
spoke  to  me  of  the  Princess  Nai'a  Mistchenka,  I  had  a 
hazy  idea  that  her  name  seemed  familiar  to  me.  And  ever 
since  I  have  known  her,  now  and  then  I  found  myself  try 
ing  to  recollect  where  I  had  heard  that  name,  even  before 
I  heard  it  from  you. 

Suddenly,  one  evening  about  a  week  ago,  it  came  to  me 
that  I  had  heard  both  the  names,  Nai'a  and  Mistchenka, 
when  I  was  a  child.  Also  the  name  Erlik.  The  two 

146 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

former  names  occur  in  Herr  Wilner's  diary;  the  latter 
I  heard  from  the  Chinese  missionary  years  ago;  and  that 
is  why  they  seemed  so  familiar  to  me. 

It  is  so  long  since  I  have  read  the  diary  that  I  can't 
remember  the  story  in  which  the  names  Nai'a  and  Mist- 
chenka  are  concerned.  As  I  recollect,  it  was  a  tragic  story 
that  used  to  thrill  me. 

At  any  rate,  I  didn't  speak  of  this  to  Princess  Nai'a ;  but 
about  a  week  ago  there  were  a  few  people  dining  here 
with  us — among  others  an  old  Turkish  Admiral,  Murad 
Pasha,  who  took  me  out.  And  as  soon  as  I  heard  his  name. 
I  thought  of  that  diary;  and  I  am  sure  it  was  mentioned 
in  it. 

Anyway,  he  happened  to  speak  of  Trebizond;  and, 
naturally,  I  said  that  my  father  had  been  a  missionary 
there  many  years  ago. 

As  this  seemed  to  interest  him,  and  because  he  ques 
tioned  me,  I  told  him  my  father's  name  and  all  that  I 
knew  in  regard  to  his  career  as  a  missionary  in  the  Treb 
izond  district.  And,  somehow — I  don't  exactly  recollect 
how  it  came  about — I  spoke  of  Herr  Wilner,  and  his  death1 
at  Gallipoli,  and  how  his  effects  came  into  my  father's 
possession. 

And  because  the  old,  sleepy-eyed  Admiral  seemed  so 
interested  and  amused,  I  told  him  about  Herr  Wilner's 
box  and  his  diary  and  the  plans  and  maps  and  photographs 
with  which  I  used  to  play  as  a  little  child. 

After  dinner,  Princess  Nai'a  asked  me  what  it  was  I 
had  been  telling  Murad  Pasha  to  wake  him  up  so  com 
pletely  and  to  keep  him  so  amused.  So  I  merely  said  that 
I  had  been  telling  the  Admiral  about  my  childhood  in 
Brookhollow. 

Naturally  neither  she  nor  I  thought  about  the  incident 
any  further.  Murad  did  not  come  again;  but  a  few  days 
later  the  Turkish  Charge  d'Affaires  was  present  at  a  very 
large  dinner  given  by  Princess  Nai'a. 

And  two  curious  conversations  occurred  .at  that  dinner: 

The  Turkish  Charge  suddenly  turned  to  me  and  askecf 
me  in  English  whether  I  were  not  the  daughter  of  the 
Reverend  Wilbour  Carew  who  once  was  in  charge  of  the 
American  Mission  near  Trebizond.  I  was  so  surprised 

147 


THE  DARK  STAR 


at   the   question;   but   I   answered   yes,   remembering  that 
Murad  must  have  mentioned  me  to  him. 

He  continued  to  ask  me  about  my  father,  and  spoke  of 
his  efforts  to  establish  a  girls'  school,  first  at  Brusa,  then 
at  Tchardak,  and  finally  near  Gallipoli.  I  told  him  I  had 
often  heard  my  father  speak  of  these  matters  with  my 
mother,  but  that  I  was  too  young  to  remember  anything 
about  my  own  life  in  Turkey. 

All  the  while  we  were  conversing,  I  noticed  that  the 
Princess  kept  looking  across  the  table  at  us  as  though 
some  chance  word  had  attracted  her  attention. 

After  dinner,  when  the  gentlemen  had  retired  to  the 
smoking  room,  the  Princess  took  me  aside  and  made  me 
repeat  everything  that  Ahmed  Mirka  had  asked  me. 

I  told  her.  She  said  that  the  Turkish  Charge  was  an 
old  busybody,  always  sniffing  about  for  all  sorts  of  infor 
mation;  that  it  was  safer  to  be  reticent  and  let  him  do  the 
talking;  and  that  almost  every  scrap  of  conversation  with 
him  was  mentally  noted  and  later  transcribed  for  the 
edification  of  the  Turkish  Secret  Service. 

I  thought  this  very  humorous;  but  going  into  the  little 
salon  where  the  piano  was  and  where  the  music  was  kept, 
while  I  was  looking  for  an  old  song  by  Messager,  from 
"La  Basoche,"  called  "Je  suis  aime  de  la  plus  belle — 
Ahmed  Mirka's  handsome  attache,  Colonel  Izzet  Bey,  came 
up  to  where  I  was  rummaging  in  the  music  cabinet. 

He  talked  nonsense  in  French  and  in  English  for  a 
while,  but  somehow  the  conversation  led  again  toward  my 
father  and  the  girls'  school  at  Gallipoli  which  had  been 
attacked  and  burned  by  a  mob  during  the  first  month  after 
it  had  been  opened,  and  where  the  German,  Herr  Wilner, 
had  been  killed. 

"Monsieur,  your  reverend  father,  must  surely  have  told 
you  stories  about  the  destruction  of  the  Gallipoli  school, 
mademoiselle,"  he  insisted. 

"Yes.  It  happened  a  year  before  the  mission  at 
Trebizond  was  destroyed  by  the  Turks,"  I  said  maliciously. 

"So  I  have  heard.  What  a  pity!  Our  Osmanli — our 
peasantry  are  so  stupid !  And  it  was  such  a  fine  school.  A 
German  engineer  was  killed  there,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  my  father  said  so." 

148 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

"A  certain  Herr  Conrad  Wilner,  was  it  not?" 

"Yes.     How  did  you  hear  of  him,  Colonel  Izzet?" 

"It  was  known  in  Stamboul.  He  perished  by  mistake, 
I  believe — at  Gallipoli." 

"Yes;  my  father  said  that  Herr  Wilner  was  the  only 
man  hurt.  He  went  out  all  alone  into  the  mob  and  began 
to  cut  them  with  his  riding  whip.  My  father  tried  to 
save  him,  but  they  killed  Herr  Wilner  with  stones." 

"Exactly."  He  spread  his  beautifully  jewelled  hands 
deprecatingly  and  seemed  greatly  grieved. 

"And  Herr  Wilner's — property?"  he  inquired.  "Did 
you  ever  hear  what  became  of  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said.     "My  father  took  charge  of  it." 

"Oh!  It  was  supposed  at  the  time  that  all  of  Herr 
Wilner's  personal  property  was  destroyed  when  the  school 
and  compound  burned.  Do  you  happen  to  know  just  what 
was  saved,  mademoiselle?" 

Of  course  I  immediately  thought  of  the  bronze  demon, 
the  box  of  instruments,  and  the  photographs  and  papers 
at  home  with  which  I  used  to  play  as  a  child.  I  remem 
bered  my  father  had  said  that  these  things  were  taken  on 
board  the  Oneida  when  he,  my  mother,  and  I  were  rescued 
by  marines  and  sailors  from  our  guard  vessel  which  came 
through  the  Bosporus  to  the  Black  Sea,  and  which  es 
corted  us  to  the  Oneida.  And  I  was  just  going  to  tell  this 
to  Izzet  Bey  when  I  also  remembered  what  the  Princess 
had  just  told  me  about  giving  any  information  to  Ahmed 
Pasha.  So  I  merely  opened  my  eyes  very  innocently  and 
gazed  at  Colonel  Izzet  and  shook  my  head  as  though  I 
did  not  understand  his  question. 

The  next  instant  the  Princess  came  in  to  see  what  I  was 
about  so  long,  and  she  looked  at  Izzet  Bey  with  a  funny 
sort  of  smile,  as  though  she  had  surprised  him  in  mis 
chief  and  was  not  angry,  only  amused.  And  when  Colonel 
Izzet  bowed,  I  saw  how  red  his  face  had  grown — as  red 
as  his  fez. 

The  Princess  laughed  and  said  in  French:  "That  is  the 
difference  between  professional  and  amateur — between 
Nizam  and  Redif — between  Ahmed  Pasha  and  our  esteemed 
but  very  youthful  attache — who  has  much  yet  to  learn 
about  that  endless  war  called  Peace !" 

149 


THE  DARK  STAR 


I  didn't  know  what  she  meant,  but  Izzet  Bey  turned  a 
bright  scarlet,  bowed  again,  and  returned  to  the  smok 
ing  room. 

And  that  night,  while  Suzanne  was  unhooking  me, 
Princess  Nai'a  came  into  my  bedroom  and  asked  me  some 
questions,  and  I  told  her  about  the  box  of  instruments  and 
the  diary,  and  the  slippery  linen  papers  covered  with  draw 
ings  and  German  writing,  with  which  I  used  to  play. 

She  said  never  to  mention  them  to  anybody,  and  that  I 
should  never  permit  anybody  to  examine  those  military 
papers,  because  it  might  be  harmful  to  America. 

How  odd  and  how  thrilling !  I  am  most  curious  to  know 
what  all  this  means.  It  seems  like  an  exciting  story  just 
beginning,  and  I  wonder  what  such  a  girl  as  I  has  to  do 
with  secrets  which  concern  the  Turkish  Charge  in  Paris. 

Don't  you  think  it  promises  to  be  romantic?  Do  you 
suppose  it  has  anything  to  do  with  spies  and  diplomacy 
and  kings  and  thrones,  and  terrible  military  secrets?  One 
hears  a  great  deal  about  the  embassies  here  being  hotbeds 
of  political  intrigue.  And  of  course  France  is  always 
thinking  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and  there  is  an  ever- 
present  danger  of  war  in  Europe. 

Mr.  Neeland,  it  thrills  me  to  pretend  to  myself  that 
I  am  actually  living  in  the  plot  of  a  romance  full  of  mys 
tery  and  diplomacy  and  dangerous  possibilities.  I  hope 
something  will  develop,  as  something  always  does  in 
novels. 

And  alas,  my  imagination,  which  always  has  been  vivid, 
needed  almost  nothing  to  blaze  into  flame.  It  is  on  fire 
now;  I  dream  of  courts  and  armies,  and  ambassadors, 
and  spies;  I  construct  stories  in  which  I  am  the  heroine 
always — sometimes  the  interesting  and  temporary  victim 
of  wicked  plots;  sometimes  the  all-powerful,  dauntless, 
and  adroit  champion  of  honour  and  righteousness  against 
treachery  and  evil! 

Did  you  ever  suppose  that  I  still  could  remain  such  a 
very  little  girl?  But  I  fear  that  I  shall  never  outgrow 
my  imagination.  And  it  needs  almost  nothing  to  set  me 
dreaming  out  stories  or  drawing  pictures  of  castles  and 
princes  and  swans  and  fairies.  And  even  this  letter  seems 
a  part  of  some  breathlessly  interesting  plot  which  I  am 

150 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

not  only  creating  but  actually  a  living  part  of  and  destined 
to  act  in. 

Do  you  want  a  part  in  it  ?  Shall  I  include  you  ?  Rather 
late  to  ask  your  permission,  for  I  have  already  included 
you.  And,  somehow,  I  think  the  Yellow  Devil  ought  to 
be  included,  too. 

Please  write  to  me,  just  once.  But  don't  speak  of  the 
papers  which  father  had,  and  don't  mention  Herr  Conrad 
Wilner's  box  if  you  write.  The  Princess  says  your  letter 
might  be  stolen. 

I  am  very  happy.  It  is  rather  cold  tonight,  and  pres 
ently  Suzanne  will  unhook  me  and  I  shall  put  on  such 
a  pretty  negligee,  and  then  curl  up  in  bed,  turn  on  my 
reading  light  with  the  pink  shade,  and  continue  to  read  the 
new  novel  recommended  to  me  by  Princess  Nai'a,  called 
"Le  Crime  de  Sylvestre  Bonnard."  It  is  a  perfectly 
darling  story,  and  Anatole  France,  who  wrote  it,  must  be  a 
darling,  too.  The  Princess  knows  him  and  promises  that 
he  shall  dine  with  us  some  day.  I  expect  to  fall  in  love 
with  him  immediately. 

Good  night,  dear  Mr.  Neeland.  I  hope  you  will  write 
to  me. 

Your  little  Gayfield  friend  grown  up, 

RUHANNAH  CAREW. 

This  letter  he  finally  did  answer,  not  voluminously, 
but  with  all  cordiality.  And,  in  a  few  days,  forgot 
about  it  and  about  the  girl  to  whom  it  was  written. 
And  there  was  nothing  more  from  her  until  early 
summer. 

Then  came  the  last  of  her  letters — an  entirely  ma 
ture  missive,  firm  in  writing,  decisive,  concise,  self- 
possessed,  eloquent  with  an  indefinite  something  which 
betrayed  a  calmly  ordered  mind  already  being  moulded 
by  discipline  mondame: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  NEELAND: 

I  had  your  very  kind  and  charming  letter  in  reply  to 
mine  written  last  January.  My  neglect  to  answer  it,  dur- 

151 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ing  all  these  months,  involves  me  in  explanations  which,  if 
you  like,  are  perhaps  due  you.  But  if  you  require  them 
at  all,  I  had  rather  surrender  them  to  you  personally  when 
we  meet. 

Possibly  that  encounter,  so  happily  anticipated  on  my 
part,  may  occur  sooner  than  you  believe  likely.  I  permit 
myself  to  hope  so.  The  note  which  I  enclose  to  you  from 
the  lady  whom  I  love  very  dearly  should  explain  why  I 
venture  to  entertain  a  hope  that  you  and  I  are  to  see 
each  other  again  in  the  near  future. 

As  you  were  kind  enough  to  inquire  about  myself  and 
what  you  describe  so  flatteringly  as  my  "amazing  progress 
in  artistic  and  worldly  wisdom,"  I  venture  to  reply  to  you* 
questions  in  order: 

They  seem  to  be  pleased  with  me  at  the  school.  I  have 
a  life-drawing  "on  the  wall,"  a  composition  sketch,  and  a 
"concours"  study  in  oil.  That  I  have  not  burst  to  atoms 
with  pride  is  a  miracle  inexplicable. 

I  have  been  told  that  my  progress  at  the  piano  is  fair. 
But  I  am  very  certain  I  shall  do  no  more  with  vocal  and 
instrumental  music  than  to  play  and  sing  acceptably  for 
such  kind  and  uncritical  friends  as  do  not  demand  much 
of  an  amateur.  Without  any  unusual  gifts,  with  a  rather 
sensitive  ear,  and  with  a  very  slightly  cultivated  and 
perfectly  childish  voice — please  do  not  expect  anything 
from  me  to  please  you. 

In  French  I  am  already  becoming  fluent.  You  see,  ex 
cept  for  certain  lessons  in  it,  I  have  scarcely  heard  a  word 
of  English  since  I  came  here;  the  Princess  will  not  use  it 
to  me  nor  permit  its  use  by  me.  And  therefore,  my  ear 
being  a  musical  one  and  rather  accurate,  I  find — now  that 
I  look  back  upon  my  abysmal  ignorance — a  very  decided 
progress. 

Also  let  me  admit  to  you — and  I  have  already  done  so, 
I  see — that,  since  I  have  been  here,  I  have  had  daily  les 
sons  in  English  with  a  cultivated  English  woman;  and  in 
consequence  I  have  been  learning  to  enlarge  a  very  meagre 
vocabulary,  and  have  begun  to  appreciate  possibilities  in 
my  own  language  of  which  I  never  dreamed. 

About  my  personal  appearance — as  long  as  you  ask  me 
— I  think  perhaps  that,  were  I  less  thin,  I  might  be  rather 

152 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

pretty.  Dress  makes  such  a  vast  difference  in  a  plain 
girl.  Also,  intelligent  care  of  one's  person  improves 
mediocrity.  Of  course  everybody  says  such  gracious 
things  to  a  girl  over  here  that  it  would  not  do  to  accept 
any  pretty  compliment  very  literally.  But  I  really  believe 
that  you  might  think  me  rather  nice  to  look  at. 

As  for  the  future,  the  truth  is  that  I  feel  much  en 
couraged.  I  made  some  drawings  in  wash  and  in  pen  and 
ink — just  ideas  of  mine.  And  Monsieur  Bonvard,  who  is 
editor  of  The  Grey  Cat — a  very  clever  weekly — has  ac 
cepted  them  and  has  paid  me  twenty-five  francs  each  for 
them !  I  was  so  astonished  that  I  could  not  believe  it. 
One  has  been  reproduced  in  last  week's  paper.  I  have 
cut  it  out  and  pasted  it  in  my  scrapbook. 

I  think,  take  it  all  in  all,  that  seeing  my  first  illustra 
tions  printed  has  given  me  greater  joy  than  I  shall  ever 
again  experience  on  earth. 

My  daily  intercourse  with  the  Princess  Mistchenka  con 
tinues  to  comfort  me,  inspire  me,  and  fill  me  with  de 
termination  so  to  educate  myself  that  when  the  time  comes 
I  shall  be  ready  and  able  to  support  myself  with  pen  and 
pencil. 

And  now  I  must  bring  my  letter  to  its  end.     The  pros 
pect  of  seeing  you  very  soon  is  agreeable  beyond  words. 
You  have  been  very  kind  to  me.     I  do  not  forgot  it. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

RUHANNAH  CAREW. 

The  enclosure  was  a  note  from  the  Princess  Mist 
chenka  : 

DEAR  JIM: 

If  in  the  past  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  add  any 
thing  to  yours,  may  I  now  invoke  in  you  the  memory  of 
our  very  frank  and  delightful  friendship? 

When  you  first  returned  to  America  from  Paris  I  found 
it  possible  to  do  for  you  a  few  favours  in  the  way  of  mak 
ing  you  known  to  certain  editors.  It  was,  I  assure  you, 
merely  because  I  liked  you  and  believed  in  your  work, 
not  because  I  ever  expected  to  ask  from  you  any  favour  in 
return. 

153 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Now,  Fate  has  thrown  an  odd  combination  from  her 
dice-box;  and  Destiny  has  veiled  herself  so  impenetrably 
that  nobody  can  read  that  awful  visage  to  guess  what 
thoughts  possess  her. 

You,  in  America,  have  heard  of  the  murder  of  the 
Austrian  Archduke,  of  course.  But — have  you,  in  America, 
any  idea  what  the  consequences  of  that  murder  may  lead 
to? 

Enough  of  that.     Now  for  the  favour  I   ask. 

Will  you  go  at  once  to  Brookhollow,  go  to  Ruhannah's 
house,  open  it,  take  from  it  a  chest  made  of  olive  wood 
and  bound  with  some  metal  which  looks  like  silver,  lock 
the  box,  take  it  to  New  York,  place  it  in  a  safe  deposit 
vault  until  you  can  sail  for  Paris  on  the  first  steamer  that 
leaves  New  York? 

Will  you  do  this — get  the  box  I  have  described  and 
bring  it  to  me  yourself  on  the  first  steamer  that  sails? 

And,  Jim,  keep  your  eye  on  the  box.  Don't  trust  any 
body  near  it.  Rue  says  that,  as  she  recollects,  the  box  is 
about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  suitcase  and  that  it  has  a 
canvas  and  leather  cover  with  a  handle  which  buttons 
over  it. 

Therefore,  you  can  carry  it  yourself  exactly  as  though 
it  were  your  suitcase,  keep  it  with  you  in  the  train  and 
on  shipboard. 

Will  you  do  this,  Jim?  It  is  much  to  ask  of  you.  I 
break  in  upon  your  work  and  cause  you  great  inconveni 
ence  and  trouble  and  expense.  But — will  you  do  it  for 
me? 

Much  depends  upon  your  doing  this.  I  think  that  pos 
sibly  the  welfare  of  your  own  country  might  depend  on 
your  doing  this  for  me. 

If  you  find  yourself  embarrassed  financially,  cable  me 
just  one  word,  "Black,"  and  I  shall  arrange  matters 
through  a  New  York  bank. 

If  you  feel  that  you  do  not  care  to  do  me  this  favour, 
cable  the  single  word,  "White." 

If  you  have  sufficient  funds,  and  are  willing  to  bring  the 
box  to  me  yourself,  cable  the  word,  "Blue." 

In  case  that  you  undertake  this  business  for  me,  be 
careful  of  the  contents  of  the  box.  Let  nobody  see  it 


LETTERS  FROM  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

open.  Be  certain  that  the  contents  are  absolutely  secure. 
I  dare  not  tell  you  how  vitally  important  to  civilisation 
these  papers  already  are — how  much  they  may  mean  to 
the  world;  what  powers  of  evil  they  might  encourage  if 
in  any  way  they  fall  into  other  hands  than  the  right  ones. 
Jim,  I  have  seldom  taken  a  very  serious  tone  with  you 
since  we  have  known  each  other.  I  am  very  serious  now. 
And  if  our  friendship  means  anything  to  you,  prove  it! 

Yours, 

NA'IA. 

As  he  sat  there  in  his  studio,  perplexed,  amazed,  an 
noyed,  yet  curious,  trying  to  think  out  what  he  ought 
to  do — -what,  in  fact,  must  be  done  somehow  or  other — 
there  came  a  ring  at  his  door  bell.  A  messenger  with 
a  cable  despatch  stood  there ;  Neeland  signed,  tore  open 
the  envelope,  and  read: 

Please  go  at  once  to  Brookhollow  and  secure  an  olive- 
wood  box  bound  with  silver,  containing  military  maps, 
plans,  photographs,  and  papers  written  in  German,  prop 
erty  of  Ruhannah  Carew.  Lose  no  time,  I  implore  you,  as 
an  attempt  to  rob  the  house  and  steal  the  papers  is  likely. 
Beware  of  anybody  resembling  a  German.  Have  written, 
but  beg  you  not  to  wait  for  letter.* 

NAI'A. 

Twice  he  reread  the  cablegram.  Then,  with  a  half- 
bewildered,  half-disgusted  glance  around  at  his  studio, 
his  belongings,  the  unfinished  work  on  his  easel,  he 
went  to  the  telephone. 

It  being  July  he  had  little  difficulty  in  reserving  a 
good  stateroom  on  the  Cunarder  Volhynia,  sailing  the 
following  day.  Then,  summoning  the  janitor,  he 
packed  a  steamer  trunk  and  gave  order  to  have  it  taken 
aboard  that  evening. 

On  his  way  downtown  to  his  bank  he  stopped  at  a 
155 


THE  DARK  STAR 


telegraph  and  cable  office  and  sent  a  cable  message  to 
the  Princess  Mistchenka.  The  text  consisted  of  only 
one  word:  "Blue." 

He  departed  for  Gayfield  on  the  five  o'clock  after 
noon  train,  carrying  with  him  a  suitcase  and  an  auto 
matic  pistol  in  his  breast  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A  JOURNEY  BEGINS 

IT  was  a  five-hour  trip.  He  dined  aboard  the  train 
with  little  desire  for  food,  the  July  evening  being  op 
pressive,  and  a  thunder  storm  brewing  over  the  Hudson. 
It  burst  in  the  vicinity  of  Fishkill  with  a  lively  display 
of  lightning,  deluging  the  Catskills  with  rain.  And 
when  he  changed  to  a  train  on  the  Mohawk  division  the 
cooler  air  was  agreeably  noticeable. 

He  changed  trains  again  at  Orangeville,  and  here 
the  night  breeze  was  delightful  and  the  scent  of  rain- 
soaked  meadows  came  through  the  open  car  window. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  and  already,  ahead,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  lights  of  Neeland's  Mills.  Always 
the  homecoming  was  a  keen  delight  to  him ;  and  now,  as 
he  stepped  off  the  train,  the  old  familiar  odours  were 
in  his  nostrils — the  unique  composite  perfume  of  the 
native  place  which  never  can  be  duplicated  elsewhere. 

All  the  sweet  and  aromatic  and  homely  smells  of 
earth  and  land  and  water  came  to  him  with  his  first 
deep-drawn  breath.  The  rank  growth  of  wild  flowers 
and  weeds  were  part  of  it — the  flat  atmosphere  of  the 
mill  pond,  always  redolent  of  water  weed  and  lily  pads, 
tinctured  it;  distant  fields  of  buckwheat  added  heavier 
perfume. 

Neither  in  the  quaint  brick  feed  mill  nor  in  the  lum 
ber  mill  were  there  any  lights,  but  in  his  own  home, 
almost  buried  among  tall  trees  and  vines,  the  light 
streamed  from  the  sitting-room  windows. 

157 


THE  DARK  STAR 


From  the  dark  yard  two  or  three  dogs  barked  at 
him,  then  barked  again  in  a  different  key,  voicing  an 
excited  welcome;  and  he  opened  the  picket  gate  and 
went  up  the  path  surrounded  by  demonstrative  setters 
and  pointers,  leaping  and  wagging  about  him  and  mak 
ing  a  vast  amount  of  noise  on  the  vine-covered  veran 
dah  as  he  opened  the  door,  let  himself  into  the  house, 
and  shut  them  out. 

"Hello,  dad!"  he  said,  crossing  swiftly  to  where  his 
father  sat  by  the  reading  lamp. 

Their  powerful  grip  lingered.  Old  Dick  Neeland, 
ruddy,  white-haired,  straight  as  a  pine,  stood  up  in  his 
old  slippers  and  quilted  smoking  coat,  his  brier  pipe 
poised  in  his  left  hand. 

"Splendid,  Jim.  I've  been  thinking  about  you  this 
evening."  He  might  have  added  that  there  were  few 
moments  when  his  son  was  not  in  his  thoughts. 

"Are  you  all  right,  dad?" 

"Absolutely.     You  are,  too,  I  see." 

They  seated  themselves. 

"Hungry,  Jim?" 

"No;  I  dined  aboard." 

"You  didn't  telegraph  me." 

"No ;  I  came  at  short  notice." 

"Can't  you  stay?" 

"Dad,  I  have  a  drawing-room  reserved  for  the  mid 
night  tonight,  and  I  am  sailing  on  the  Volhyma  tomor 
row  at  nine  in  the  morning !" 

"God  bless  me  !    Why,  Jim?" 

"Dad,  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  it." 

His  father  sat  with  brier  pipe  suspended  and  keen 
blue  eyes  fixed  on  his  son,  while  the  son  told  everything 
he  knew  about  the  reason  for  his  flying  trip  to  Paris. 

"You  see  how  it  is,  don't  you,  dad?"  he  ended.     "The 
158 


4  JOURNEY  BEGINS 


Princess  has  been  a  good  and  loyal  friend  to  me.  She 
has  used  her  influence;  I  have  met,  through  her,  the 
people  I  ought  to  know,  and  they  have  given  me  work 
to  do.  I'm  in  her  debt ;  I'm  under  real  obligation  to 
her.  And  I've  got  to  go,  that's  all." 

Old  Dick  Neeland's  clear  eyes  of  a  sportsman  con 
tinued  to  study  his  son's  face. 

"Yes,  you've  got  to  go,"  he  said.  He  smoked  for  a 
few  moments,  then :  "What  the  devil  does  it  mean,  any 
way?  Have  you  any  notion,  Jim?" 

"No,  I  haven't.  There  seems  to  be  some  military 
papers  in  this  box  that  is  mentioned.  Evidently  they 
are  of  value  to  somebody.  Evidently  other  people  have 
got  wind  of  that  fact  and  desire  to  obtain  them  for 
themselves.  It  almost  seems  as  though  something  is 
brewing  over  there — trouble  of  some  sort  between  Ger 
many  and  some  other  nation.  But  I  haven't  heard  of 
anything." 

His  father  continued  to  smoke  for  a  while,  then: 

"There  is  something  brewing  over  there,  Jim." 

"I  hadn't  heard,"  repeated  the  young  man. 

"I  haven't  either,  directly.  But  in  my  business 
some  unusual  orders  have  come  through — from  abroad. 
Both  France  and  Germany  have  been  making  inquiries 
through  agents  in  regard  to  shipments  of  grain  and 
feed  and  lumber.  I've  heard  of  several  very  heavy  rush 
orders." 

"What  on  earth  could  cause  war?" 

"I  can't  see,  Jim.  Of  course  Austria's  attitude 
toward  Servia  is  very  sullen.  But  outside  of  that  I 
can  see  no  trouble  threatening. 

"And  yet,  the  Gay  field  woollen  mill  has  just  received 
an  enormous  order  for  socks  and  underwear  from  the 
French  Government.  They're  running  all  night  now. 

159 


THE  DARK  STAR 


And  another  thing  struck  me:  there  has  been  a  mani 
in  this  section  buying  horses  for  the  British  Govern 
ment.  Of  course  it's  done  now  and  then,  but,  taking 
this  incident  with  the  others  which  have  come  to  my 
personal  knowledge,  it  would  seem  as  though  something 
were  brewing  over  in  Europe." 

Jim's  perplexed  eyes  rested  on  his  father;  he  shook 
his  youthful  head  slightly : 

"I  can't  see  why,"  he  said.  "But  if  it's  to  be  France 
and  Germany  again,  why  my  sympathy  is  entirely  for 
France." 

"Naturally,"  nodded  his  father. 

Their  Irish  ancestors  had  fought  for  Bonaparte,  and 
for  the  Bourbons  before  him.  And,  cursed  with  cou 
sins,  like  all  Irish,  they  were  aware  of  plenty  of  Nee- 
lands  in  France  who  spoke  no  English. 

Jim   rose,  glanced   at   his   watch: 

"Dad,  I'll  just  be  running  over  to  Brookhollow  to 
get  that  box.  I  haven't  such  a  lot  of  time,  if  I'm  to 
catch  the  midnight  train  at  Orangeville." 

"I  should  say  you  hadn't,"  said  his  father. 

He  was  disappointed,  but  he  smiled  as  he  exchanged 
a  handclasp  with  his  only  son. 

"You're  coming  right  back  from  Paris?" 

"Next  steamer.  I've  a  lot  of  work  on  hand,  thank 
goodness !  But  that  only  puts  me  under  heavier  obli 
gations  to  the  Princess  Mistchenka." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Anything  but  ingratitude,  Jim. 
It's  the  vilest  vice  of  'em  all.  They  say  it's  in  the  Irish 
blood — ingratitude.  They  must  never  prove  it  by  a 
Neeland.  Well,  my  boy — I'm  not  lonesome,  you  un 
derstand  ;  busy  men  have  no  time  to  be  lonesome — but 
run  up,  will  you,  when  you  get  back?" 

"You  bet  I  will." 

160 


A  JOURNEY  BEGINS 


"I'll  show  you  a  brace  of  promising  pups.  They 
stand  rabbits,  still,  but  they  won't  when  the  season  is 
over." 

"Blue  Bird's  pups?" 

"Yes.     They  take  after  her." 

"Fine  !  I'll  be  back  for  the  shooting,  anyway.  Many 
broods  this  season?" 

"A  fair  number.     It  was  not  too  wet." 

For  a  moment  they  lingered,  smiling  at  each  other, 
then  Jim  gave  his  father's  hand  a  quick  shake,  picked 
up  his  suitcase,  turned. 

"I'll  take  the  runabout,  dad.  Someone  from  the 
Orangeville  garage  will  bring  it  over  in  the  morning." 

He  went  out,  pushed  his  way  among  the  leaping  dogs 
to  the  garage,  threw  open  the  doors,  and  turned  on 
the  electric  light. 

A  slim  and  trim  Snapper  runabout  stood  glistening 
beside  a  larger  car  and  two  automobile  trucks.  He  ex 
changed  his  straw  hat  for  a  cap ;  placed  hat  and  suit 
case  in  the  boot ;  picked  up  a  flash  light  from  the  work- 
table,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  cranked  the  Snapper, 
jumped  in,  ran  it  to  the  service  entrance,  where  his 
father  stood  ready  to  check  the  dogs  and  close  the 
gates  after  him. 

"Good-bye,  dad!"  he  called  out  gaily. 

"Good-bye,  my  son." 

The  next  instant  he  was  speeding  through  the  starry 
darkness,  following  the  dazzling  path  blazed  out  for 
him  by  his  headlights. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 

FROM  the  road,  just  before  he  descended  to  cross  the 
bridge  into  Brookhollow,  he  caught  a  gleam  of  light 
straight  ahead.  For  a  moment  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  there  was  anything  strange  in  his  seeing  a  light 
in  the  old  Carew  house.  Then,  suddenly,  he  realised 
that  a  light  ought  not  to  be  burning  behind  the  lowered 
shades  of  a  house  which  was  supposed  to  be  empty  and 
locked. 

His  instant  impulse  was  to  put  on  his  brakes  then 
and  there,  but  the  next  moment  he  realised  that  his  car 
must  already  have  been  heard  and  seen  by  whoever  had 
lighted  that  shaded  lamp.  The  car  was  already  on 
the  old  stone  bridge;  the  Carew  house  stood  directly 
behind  the  crossroads  ahead ;  and  he  swung  to  the  right 
into  the  creek  road  and  sped  along  it  until  he  judged 
that  neither  his  lights  nor  the  sound  of  his  motor  could 
be  distinguished  by  the  unknown  occupant  of  the  Carew 
house. 

Then  he  ran  his  car  out  among  the  tall  weeds  close 
to  the  line  of  scrub  willows  edging  the  creek ;  extin 
guished  his  lights,  including  the  tail-lamp;  left  his  en 
gine  running;  stood  listening  a  moment  to  the  whisper 
ing  whirr  of  his  motor ;  then,  taking  the  flash  light  from 
his  pocket,  he  climbed  over  the  roadside  wall  and  ran 
back  across  the  pasture  toward  the  house. 

As  he  approached  the  old  house  from  the  rear,  no 
crack  of  light  was  visible,  and  he  began  to  think  he 

162 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


might  have  been  mistaken — that  perhaps  the  dancing 
glare  of  his  own  acetylenes  on  the  windows  had  made 
it  seem  as  though  they  were  illuminated  from  within. 

Cautiously  he  prowled  along  the  rear  under  the 
kitchen  windows,  turned  the  corner,  and  went  to  the 
front  porch. 

Pie  had  made  no  mistake;  a  glimmer  was  visible  be 
tween  the  edge  of  the  lowered  shade  and  the  window 
casing. 

Was  it  some  impudent  tramp  who  had  preempted  this 
lonely  house  for  a  night's  lodging?  Was  it,  possibly, 
a  neighbour  who  had  taken  charge  in  return  for  a  gar 
den  to  cultivate  and  a  place  to  sleep  in  ?  Yet,  how  could 
it  be  the  latter  when  he  himself  had  the  keys  to  the 
house?  Moreover,  such  an  arrangement  could  scarcely 
have  been  made  by  Rue  Carew  without  his  being  told 
of  it. 

Then  he  remembered  what  the  Princess  Mistchenka 
had  said  in  her  cable  message,  that  somebody  might 
break  into  the  house  and  steal  the  olive-wood  box  unless 
he  hastened  to  Brookhollow  and  secured  it  immediately. 

Was  this  what  was  being  done  now?  Had  somebody 
broken  in  for  that  purpose?  And  who  might  it  be? 

A  slight  chill,  not  entirely  agreeable,  passed  over 
Neeland.  A  rather  warm  sensation  of  irritation  suc 
ceeded  it ;  he  mounted  the  steps,  crossed  the  verandah, 
went  to  the  door  and  tried  the  knob  very  cautiously. 
The  door  was  locked;  whoever  might  be  inside  either 
possessed  a  key  that  fitted  or  else  must  have  entered  by 
forcing  a  window. 

But  Neeland  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  prowl 
around  and  investigate ;  he  had  a  duty  to  fulfil,  a  train 
to  catch,  and  a  steamer  to  connect  with  the  next  morn 
ing.  Besides,  he  was  getting  madder  every  second. 

163 


THE  DARK  STAR 


So  he  fitted  his  key  to  the  door,  careless  of  what 
noise  he  made,  unlocked  and  pushed  it  open,  and  started 
to  cross  the  threshold. 

Instantly  the  light  in  the  adjoining  room  grew  dim. 
At  the  same  moment  his  quick  ear  caught  a  sound  as 
though  somebody  had  blown  out  the  turned-down  flame ; 
and  he  found  himself  facing  total  darkness. 

"Who  the  devil's  in  there !"  he  called,  flashing  his 
electric  pocket  lamp.  "Come  out,  whoever  you  are. 
You've  no  business  in  this  house,  and  you  know  it !" 
And  he  entered  the  silent  room. 

His  flash  light  revealed  nothing  except  dining-room 
furniture  in  disorder,  the  doors  of  a  cupboard  standing 
open — one  door  still  gently  swinging  on  its  hinges. 

The  invisible  hand  that  had  moved  it  could  not  be 
far  away.  Neeland,  throwing  his  light  right  and  left, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  another  door  closing  stealthily, 
ran  forward  and  jerked  it  open.  His  lamp  illuminated 
an  empty  passageway;  he  hurried  through  it  to  the 
door  that  closed  the  farther  end,  tore  it  open,  and 
deluged  the  sitting-room  with  his  blinding  light. 

Full  in  the  glare,  her  face  as  white  as  the  light  itself, 
stood  a  woman.  And  just  in  time  his  eyes  caught  the 
glitter  of  a  weapon  in  her  stiffly  extended  hand ;  and  he 
snapped  off  his  light  and  ducked  as  the  level  pistol- 
flame  darted  through  the  darkness. 

The  next  second  he  had  her  in  his  grasp;  held  her 
writhing  and  twisting;  and,  through  the  confused  tram 
ple  and  heavy  breathing,  he  noticed  a  curious  crackling 
noise  as  though  the  clothing  she  wore  were  made  of 
paper. 

The  struggle  in  pitch  darkness  was  violent  but  brief ; 
she  managed  to  fire  again  as  he  caught  her  right  arm 
and  felt  along  it  until  he  touched  the  desperately 

164 


Full  in  the  glare,  her  face  as  white  as  the 
light  itself,  stood  a  woman. 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


clenched  pistol.  Then,  still  clutching  her  closed  fingers, 
he  pulled  the  flash  light  from  his  side  pocket  and  threw 
its  full  radiance  straight  into  her  face. 

"Let  go  your  pistol,"  he  breathed. 

She  strove  doggedly  to  retain  it,  but  her  slender  fin 
gers  slowly  relaxed  under  his  merciless  grip ;  the  pistol 
fell;  and  he  kicked  the  pearl-handled,  nickel-plated 
weapon  across  the  dusty  board  floor. 

They  both  were  panting;  her  right  arm,  rigid,  still 
remained  in  his  powerful  clutch.  He  released  it  pres 
ently,  stepped  back,  and  played  the  light  over  her  from 
head  to  foot. 

She  was  deathly  white.  Under  her  smart  straw  hat, 
which  had  been  pushed  awry,  the  contrast  between  her 
black  hair  and  eyes  and  her  chalky  skin  was  startling. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  house?"  he  demanded, 
still  breathing  heavily  from  exertion  and  excitement. 

She  made  an  effort: 

"Is  it  your  house?"  she  gasped. 

"It  isn't  yours,  is  it?"  he  retorted. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Why  did  you  shoot  at  me?" 

She  lifted  her  black  eyes  and  stared  at  him.  Her 
breast  rose  and  fell  with  her  rapid  breathing,  and  she 
placed  both  hands  over  it  as  though  to  quiet  it. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I'm  in  a  hurry.  I  want  an  explana 
tion  from  you — 

The  words  died  on  his  lips  as  she  whipped  a  knife 
out  of  her  bosom  and  flew  at  him.  Through  the  confu 
sion  of  flash  light  and  darkness  they  reeled,  locked  to 
gether,  but  he  caught  her  arm  again,  jerking  it  so  vio 
lently  into  the  air  that  he  lifted  her  off  her  feet. 

"That's  about  all  for  tonight,"  he  panted,  twisting 
the  knife  out  of  her  helpless  hand  and  flinging  it  be- 

165 


THE  DARK  STAR 


hind  him.  Without  further  ceremony,  he  pulled  out  his 
handkerchief,  caught  her  firmly,  reached  for  her  other 
arm,  jerked  it  behind  her  back,  and  tied  both  wrists. 
Then  he  dragged  a  chair  up  and  pushed  her  on  it. 

Her  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  her  hair  sagged  to  her 
neck.  The  frail  stuff  of  which  her  waist  was  made  had 
been  badly  torn,  too,  and  hung  in  rags  from  her  right 
shoulder. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded. 

As  she  made  no  reply,  he  went  over  and  picked  up  the 
knife  and  the  pistol.  The  knife  was  a  silver-mounted 
Kurdish  dagger ;  the  engraved  and  inlaid  blade  appeared 
to  be  dull  and  rusty.  He  examined  it  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  glanced  inquiringly  at  her  where  she  sat,  pale 
and  mute  on  the  chair,  with  both  wrists  tied  behind 
her. 

"You  seem  to  be  a  connoisseur  of  antiques,"  he  said. 
"Your  dagger  is  certainly  a  collector's  gem,  and  your 
revolver  is  equally  out  of  date.  I  recommend  an  auto 
matic  the  next  time  you  contemplate  doing  murder." 

Walking  up  to  her  he  looked  curiously  into  her  dark 
eyes,  but  he  could  detect  no  expression  in  them. 

"Why  did  you  come  here?"  he  demanded. 

No  answer. 

"Did  you  come  to  get  an  olive-wood  box  bound  with 
silver?" 

A  slight  colour  tinted  the  ashy  pallor  under  her 
eyes. 

He  turned  abruptly  and  swept  the  furniture  with  his 
searchlight,  and  saw  on  a  table  her  coat,  gloves,  wrist 
bag,  and  furled  umbrella;  and  beside  them  what  ap 
peared  to  be  her  suitcase,  open.  It  had  a  canvas  and 
leather  cover :  he  walked  over  to  the  table,  turned  back 
the  cover  of  the  suitcase  and  revealed  a  polished  box 

166 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


of  olive  wood,  heavily  banded  by  some  metal  resembling 
silver. 

Inside  the  box  were  books,  photographs,  a  bronze 
Chinese  figure,  which  he  recognised  as  the  Yellow  Devil, 
a  pair  of  revolvers,  a  dagger  very  much  like  the  one 
he  had  wrested  from  her.  But  there  were  no  military 
plants  there. 

He  turned  to  his  prisoner: 

"Is  everything  here?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Yes."   ' 

He  picked  up  her  wrist  bag  and  opened  it,  but  dis 
covered  only  some  money,  a  handkerchief,  a  spool  of 
thread  and  packet  of  needles. 

There  was  a  glass  lamp  on  the  table.  He  managed 
to  light  it  finally;  turned  off  his  flash  light,  and  ex 
amined  the  contents  of  the  box  again  thoroughly.  Then 
he  came  back  to  where  she  was  seated. 

"Get  up,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  sullenly  without  moving. 

"I'm  in  a  hurry,"  he  repeated;  "get  up.  I'm  going 
to  search  you." 

At  that  she  bounded  to  her  feet. 

"What!"  she  exclaimed  furiously. 

But  he  caught  hold  of  her,  held  her,  untied  the  hand 
kerchief,  freeing  her  wrists. 

"Now,  pull  out  those  papers  you  have  concealed 
under  your  clothing,"  he  said  impatiently.  And,  as 
she  made  no  motion  to  comply :  "If  you  don't,  I'll  do 
it  for  you!" 

"You  dare  lay  your  hand  on  me !"  she  flamed. 

"You  treacherous  little  cat,  do  you  think  I'll  hesi 
tate?"  he  retorted.  "Do  you  imagine  I  retain  any  re 
spect  for  you  or  your  person?  Give  me  those  papers  !" 

"I  have  no  papers !" 

167 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"You  are  lying.  Listen  to  me  once  for  all;  I've  a 
train  to  catch  and  a  steamer  to  catch,  and  I'm  going 
to  do  both.  And  if  you  don't  instantly  hand  out  those 
papers  you've  concealed  I'll  have  no  more  compunction 
in  taking  them  by  force  than  I'd  have  in  stripping  an 
ear  of  corn!  Make  up  your  mind  and  make  it  up 
quick!" 

"You  mean  you'd  strip — me!'9  she  stammered,  scar 
let  to  her  hair. 

"That's  what  I  mean,  you  lying  little  thief.  That's 
just  what  I  mean.  Kick  and  squall  as  you  like,  I'll  take 
those  papers  with  me  if  I  have  to  take  your  clothing 
too !" 

Breathless,  infuriated,  she  looked  desperately  around 
her,  caught  sight  of  the  Kurdish  dagger,  leaped  at  it ; 
and  for  the  third  time  found  herself  struggling  in  his 
arms. 

"Don't !"  she  gasped.  "Let  me  go !  I — I'll  give  you 
what  you  want " 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes." 

He  released  the  dishevelled  girl,  who  shrank  away 
from  him.  But  the  devil  himself  glowed  in  her  black 
eyes. 

"Go  out  of  the  room,"  she  said,  "if  I'm  to  get  the 
papers  for  you !" 

"I  can't  trust  you,"  he  answered.  "I'll  turn  my 
back."  And  he  walked  over  to  the  olive-wood  box, 
where  the  weapons  lay. 

Standing  there  he  heard,  presently,  the  rustle  of 
crumpling  papers,  heard  a  half-smothered  sob, 
waited,  listening,  alert  for  further  treachery  on  her 
part. 

"Hurry !"  he  said. 

168 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


A  board  creaked. 

"Don't  move  again!"  he  cried.  The  floor  boards 
creaked  once  more;  and  he  turned  like  a  flash  to  find 
her  in  her  stocking  feet,  already  halfway  to  where  he 
stood.  In  either  hand  she  held  out  a  bundle  of  papers ; 
and,  as  they  faced  each  other,  she  took  another  step 
toward  him. 

"Stand  where  you  are,"  he  warned  her.  "Throw 
those  papers  on  the  floor!" 

UT )) 

"Do  you  hear !" 

Looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes  she  opened  both 
hands ;  the  papers  fell  at  her  feet,  and  with  them 
dropped  the  two  dagger-like  steel  pins  which  had  held 
her  hat. 

"Now,  go  and  put  on  your  shoes,"  he  said  contemp 
tuously,  picking  up  the  papers  and  running  over  them. 
When  he  had  counted  them,  he  came  back  to  where 
she  was  standing. 

"Where  are  the  others?" 

"What  others?" 

"The  remainder  of  the  papers!  You  little  devil, 
they're  wrapped  around  your  body !  Go  into  that  pan 
try!  Go  quick!  Undress  and  throw  out  every  rag 
you  wear !" 

She  drew  a  deep,  quivering  breath,  turned,  entered 
the  pantry  and  closed  the  door.  Presently  the  door 
opened  a  little  and  her  clothing  dropped  outside  in  a 
heap. 

There  were  papers  in  her  stockings,  papers  stitched 
to  her  stays,  basted  inside  her  skirts.  A  roll  of  draw 
ings  traced  on  linen  lay  on  the  floor,  still  retaining 
the  warmth  of  her  body  around  which  they  had  been 
wrapped. 

169 


THE  DARK  STAB 


He  pulled  the  faded  embroidered  cover  from  the  old 
piano  and  knocked  at  the  pantry  door. 

"Put  that  on,"  he  said,  "and  come  out." 

She  emerged,  swathed  from  ankle  to  chin,  her  flushed 
face  shadowed  by  her  fallen  mass  of  dark  hair.  He 
turned  his  flash  light  on  the  cupboard,  but  discovered 
nothing  more.  Then  he  picked  up  her  hat,  clothes,  and 
shoes,  laid  them  on  the  pantry  shelf,  and  curtly  bade 
her  go  back  and  dress. 

"May  I  have  the  lamp  and  that  looking  glass?" 

"If  you  like,"  he  said,  preoccupied  with  the  papers. 

While  she  was  dressing,  he  repacked  the  olive-wood 
box.  She  emerged  presently,  carrying  the  lamp,  and 
he  took  it  from  her  hurriedly,  not  knowing  whether  she 
might  elect  to  throw  it  at  his  head. 

While  she  was  putting  on  her  jacket  he  stood  watch 
ing  her  with  perplexed  and  sombre  gaze. 

"I  think,"  he  remarked,  "that  I'll  take  you  with  me 
and  drop  you  at  the  Orangeville  jail  on  my  way  to 
town.  Be  kind  enough  to  start  toward  the  door." 

As  she  evinced  no  inclination  to  stir  he  passed  one 
arm  around  her  and  lifted  her  along  a  few  feet ;  and  she 
turned  on  him,  struggling,  her  face  convulsed  with 
fury. 

"Keep  your  insolent  hands  off  me,"  she  said.  "Do 
you  hear?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  hear."  He  nodded  again  toward  the  door. 
"Come,"  he  repeated  impatiently;  "move  on!" 

She  hesitated;  he  picked  up  the  olive-wood  box,  ex 
tinguished  the  lamp,  opened  his  flash,  and  motioned 
with  his  head,  significantly.  She  walked  ahead  of  him, 
face  lowered. 

Outside  he  closed  and  locked  the  door  of  the  house. 

"This  way,"  he  said  coldly.  "If  you  refuse,  I'll  pick 

170 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


you  up  and  carry  you  under  my  arm.     I  think  by  this 
time  you  realise  I  can  do  it,  too." 

Halfway  across  the  dark  pasture  she  stopped  short 
in  her  tracks. 

"Have  I  got  to  carry  you?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Don't  have  me  locked  up." 

"Why  not?" 

"I'm  not  a— a  thief." 

"Oh !    Excuse  me.    What  are  you?" 

"You  know.     Don't  humiliate  me." 

"Answer  my  question !  What  are  you  if  you're  n6t  a 
lady  crook?" 

"I'm  employed — as  you  are !  Play  the  game  fairly." 
She  halted  in  the  dark  pasture,  but  he  motioned  her  to 
go  forward. 

"If  you  don't  keep  on  walking,"  he  said,  "I'll  pick 
you  up  as  I  would  a  pet  cat  and  carry  you.  Now,  then, 
once  more,  who  are  you  working  for?  By  whom  are 
you  employed,  if  you're  not  a  plain  thief?" 

"The— Turkish  Embassy." 

"What!" 

"You  knew  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  walking 
through  the  darkness  beside  him. 

"What  is  your  name?"  he  insisted. 

"Dumont." 

"What  else?" 

"Use  Dumont." 

"That's  French." 

"It's  Alsatian  German." 

"All  right.  Now,  why  did  you  break  into  that 
house?" 

"To  take  what  you  took." 

"To  steal  these  papers  for  the  Turkish  Embassy?" 

"To  take  them." 

171 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"For  the  Turkish  Ambassador !"  he  repeated  incredu 
lously. 

"No;  for  his  military  attache." 

"What  are  you,  a  spy?" 

"You  knew  it  well  enough.  You  are  one,  also.  But 
you  have  treated  me  as  though  I  were  a  thief.  You'll 
be  killed  for  it,  I  hope." 

"You  think  I'm  a  spy?"  he  asked,  astonished. 

"What  else  are  you?" 

"A  spy?"  he  repeated.  "Is  that  what  you  are?  And 
you  suppose  me  to  be  one,  too?  That's  funny.  That's 

extremely '      He  checked  himself,  looked  around  at 

her.     "What  are  you  about?"  he  demanded.     "What's 
that  in  your  hand?" 

"A  cigarette." 

They  had  arrived  at  the  road.  He  got  over  the  wall 
with  the  box;  she  vaulted  it  lightly. 

In  the  darkness  he  caught  the  low,  steady  throbbing 
of  his  engine,  and  presently  distinguished  the  car  stand 
ing  where  he  had  left  it. 

"Get  in,"  he  said  briefly. 

"I  am  not  a  thief!  Are  you  going  to  lay  that  charge 
against  me?" 

"I  don't  know.  Is  it  worse  than  charging  you  with 
three  separate  attempts  to  murder  me?" 

"Are  you  going  to  take  me  to  jail?" 

"I'll  see.  You'll  go  as  far  as  Orangeville  with  me, 
anyhow." 

"I  don't  care  to  go." 

"I  don't  care  whether  you  want  to  go  or  not.  Get 
into  the  car!" 

She  climbed  to  the  seat  beside  the  wheel;  he  tossed 
in  the  olive-wood  box,  turned  on  his  lamps,  and  took 
the  wheel. 

172 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


"May  I  have  a  match  for  my  cigarette?"  she  asked 
meekly. 

He  found  one,  scratched  it;  she  placed  a  very  thick 
and  long  cigarette  between  her  lips  and  he  lighted  it 
for  her. 

Just  as  he  threw  in  the  clutch  and  the  car  started, 
the  girl  blew  a  shower  of  sparks  from  the  end  of  her 
cigarette,  rose  in  her  seat,  and  flung  the  lighted  ciga 
rette  high  into  the  air.  Instantly  it  burst  into  a  flare 
of  crimson  fire,  hanging  aloft  as  though  it  were  a  fire 
balloon,  and  lighting  up  road  and  creek  and  bushes  and 
fields  with  a  brilliant  strontium  glare. 

Then,  far  in  the  night,  he  heard  a  motor  horn  screech 
three  times. 

"You  young  devil!"  he  said,  increasing  the  speed. 
"I  ought  to  have  remembered  that  every  snake  has  its 
mate.  ...  If  you  offer  to  touch  me — if  you  move — if 
you  as  much  as  lift  a  finger,  I'll  throw  you  into  the 
creek !" 

The  car  was  flying  now,  reeling  over  the  dirt  road 
like  a  drunken  thing.  He  hung  grimly  to  the  wheel,  his 
strained  gaze  fixed  on  the  shaft  of  light  ahead,  through 
which  the  road  streamed  like  a  torrent. 

A  great  wind  roared  in  his  ears;  his  cap  was  gone. 
The  car  hurled  itself  forward  through  an  endless  tunnel 
of  darkness  lined  with  silver.  Presently  he  began  to 
slow  down;  the  furious  wind  died  away;  the  streaking 
darkness  sped  by  less  swiftly. 

"Have  you  gone  mad?"  she  cried  in  his  ear.  "You'll 
kill  us  both !" 

"Wait,"  he  shouted  back;  "I'll  show  you  and  your 
friends  behind  us  what  speed  really  is." 

The  car  was  still  slowing  down  as  they  passed  over  a 
wooden  bridge  where  a  narrow  road,  partly  washed  out, 

173 


THE  DARK  STAR 


turned  to  the  left  and  ran  along  a  hillside.     Into  this 
he  steered. 

"Who  is  it  chasing  us?"  he  asked  curiously,  still  in 
credulous  that  any  embassy  whatever  was  involved  in 
this  amazing  affair. 

"Friends." 

"More  Turks?" 

She  did  not  reply. 

He  sat  still,  listening  for  a  few  moments,  then  hastily 
started  his  car  down  the  hill. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I'll  show  you  what  this  car  of  mine 
really  can  do!  Are  you  afraid?" 

She  said  between  her  teeth: 

"I'd  be  a  fool  if  I  were  not.  All  I  pray  for  is  that 
you'll  kill  yourself,  too." 

"We'll  chance  it  together,  my  murderous  little 
friend." 

The  wind  began  to  roar  again  as  they  rushed  down 
ward  over  a  hill  that  seemed  endless.  She  clung  to  her 
seat  and  he  hung  to  his  wheel  like  grim  death ;  and,  for 
one  terrible  instant,  she  almost  lost  consciousness. 

Then  the  terrific  pace  slackened;  the  car,  running 
swiftly,  was  now  speeding  over  a  macadam  road ;  and 
Neeland  laughed  and  cried  in  her  ear: 

"Better  light  another  of  your  hell's  own  cigarettes  if 
you  want  your  friends  to  follow  us !" 

Slowing,  he  drove  with  one  hand  on  the  wheel. 

"Look  up  there !"  he  said,  pointing  high  at  a  dark 
hillside.  "See  their  lights?  They're  on  the  worst  road 
in  the  Gayfield  hills.  We  cut  off  three  miles  this  way." 

Still  driving  with  one  hand,  he  looked  at  his  watch, 
laughed  contentedly,  and  turned  to  her  with  the  sudden 
and  almost  friendly  toleration  born  of  success  and  of 
danger  shared  in  common. 

174 


The  girl  rose  in  her  seat,  and  flung  the  lighted  cigarette 
high  into  the  air. 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


"That  was  rather  a  reckless  bit  of  driving,"  he  ad 
mitted.  "Were  you  frightened?" 

"Ask  yourself  how  you'd  feel  with  a  fool  at  the 
wheel." 

"We're  all  fools  at  times,"  he  retorted,  laughing. 
"You  were  when  you  shot  at  me.  Suppose  I'd  been 
seized  with  panic.  I  might  have  turned  loose  on  you, 
too." 

For  a  while  she  remained  silent,  then  she  looked  at 
him  curiously : 

"Were  you  armed?" 

"I  carry  an  automatic  pistol  in  my  portfolio  pocket." 

She  shrugged. 

"You  were  a  fool  to  come  into  that  house  without 
carrying  it  in  your  hand." 

"Where  would  you  be  now  if  I  had  done  that?" 

"Dead,  I  suppose,"  she  said  carelessly.  .  .  .  "What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

He  was  in  excellent  humour  with  himself ;  exhilaration 
and  excitement  still  possessed  him,  keyed  him  up. 

"Fancy,"  he  said,  "a  foreign  embassy  being  mixed 
up  in  a  plain  case  of  grand  larceny ! — robbing  with  at 
tempt  to  murder!  My  dear  but  bloodthirsty  young 
lady,  I  can  hardly  comprehend  it." 

She  remained  silent,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "I'm  rather  glad  you're  not  a 
common  thief.  You've  lots  of  pluck — plenty.  You're 
as  clever  as  a  cobra.  It  isn't  every  poisonous  snake 
that  is  clever,"  he  added,  laughing. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  me?"  she  repeated 
coolly. 

"I  don't  know.  You  are  certainly  an  interesting 
companion.  Maybe  I'll  take  you  to  New  York  with  me. 
You  see  I'm  beginning  to  like  you." 

175 


THE  DARK  STAB 


She  was  silent. 

He  said: 

"I  never  before  met  a  real  spy.  I  scarcely  believed 
they  existed  in  time  of  peace,  except  in  novels.  Reallv, 
I  never  imagined  there  were  any  spies  working  for  em 
bassies,  except  in  Europe.  You  are,  to  me,  such  a  rare 
specimen,"  he  added  gaily,  "that  I  rather  dread  part 
ing  with  you.  Won't  you  come  to  Paris  with  me?" 

"Does  what  you  say  amuse  you?" 

"What  you  say  does.  Yes,  I  think  I'll  take  you  to 
New  York,  anyway.  And  as  we  journey  toward  that 
great  metropolis  together  you  shall  tell  me  all  about 
your  delightful  profession.  You  shall  be  a  Schehera 
zade  to  me!  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

She  said  in  a  pleasant,  even  voice: 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  now  that  what  you've  been 
stupid  enough  to  do  tonight  is  going  to  cost  you  your 
life." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed  laughingly.  "More  murder? 
Oh,  Scheherazade !  Shame  on  your  naughty,  naughty 
behaviour !" 

"Do  you  expect  to  reach  Paris  with  those  papers?" 

"I  do,  fair  houri !     I  do,  Rose  of  Stamboul !" 

"You  never  will." 

"No?" 

"No."  She  sat  staring  ahead  of  her  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  then  turned  on  him  with  restrained  impatience: 

"Listen  to  me,  now !  I  don't  know  who  you  are.  If 
you're  employed  by  any  government  you  are  a  no 
vice — — " 

"Or  an  artist!" 

"Or  a  consummate  artist,"  she  admitted,  looking  at 
him  uncertainly. 

"I  am  an  artist,"  he  said. 
176 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


"You  have  an  excellent  opinion  of  yourself." 

"No.  I'm  telling  you  the  truth.  My  name  is  Nee- 
land — James  Neeland.  I  draw  little  pictures  for  a  liv 
ing — nice  little  pictures  for  newspapers  and  maga 
zines." 

His  frankness  evidently  perplexed  her. 

"If  that  is  so,"  she  said,  "what  interests  you  in  the 
papers  you  took  from  me?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  my  dear  young  lady !  Tm  not  in 
terested  in  them.  But  friends  of  mine  are." 

"Who?" 

He  merely  laughed  at  her. 

"Are  you  an  agent  for  any  government?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

She  said  very  quietly: 

"You  make  a  terrible  mistake  to  involve  yourself  in 
this  affair.  If  you  are  not  paid  to  do  it — if  you  are 
not  interested  from  patriotic  motives — you  had  better 
keep  aloof." 

"But  it's  too  late.  I  am  mixed  up  in  it — whatever 
it  may  mean.  Why  not  tell  me,  Scheherazade?" 

His  humorous  badinage  seemed  only  to  make  her 
more  serious. 

"Mr.  Neeland,"  she  said  quietly,  "if  you  really  are 
what  you  say  you  are,  it  is  a  dangerous  and  silly  thing 
that  you  have  done  tonight." 

"Don't  say  that!  Don't  consider  it  so  tragically. 
I'm  enjoying  it  all  immensely." 

"Do  you  consider  it  a  comedy  when  a  woman  tries  to 
kill  you?" 

"Maybe  you  are  fond  of  murder,  gentle  lady." 

"Your  sense  of  humour  seems  a  trifle  perverted.  I 
am  more  serious  than  I  ever  was  in  my  life.  And  I  tell 
you  very  solemnly  that  you'll  be  killed  if  you  try  to 

177 


THE  DARK  STAR 


take  those  papers  to  Paris.  Listen!" — she  laid  one 
hand  lightly  on  his  arm — "Why  should  you  involve 
yourself — you,  an  American?  This  matter  is  no  con 
cern  of  yours ' 

"What  matter?" 

"The  matter  concerning  those  papers.  I  tell  you  it 
does  not  concern  you ;  it  is  none  of  your  business.  Let 
me  be  frank  with  you :  the  papers  are  of  importance  to 
a  foreign  government — to  the  German  Government. 
And  in  no  way  do  they  threaten  your  people  or  your 
country's  welfare.  Why,  then,  do  you  interfere?  Why 
do  you  use  violence  toward  an  agent  of  a  foreign  and 
friendly  government  ?" 

"Why  does  a  foreign  and  friendly  government  em 
ploy  spies  in  a  friendly  country?" 

"All  governments  do." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"It  is.  America  swarms  with  British  and  French 
agents." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"It's  my  business  to  know,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"Then  that  is  your  profession!     You  really  are  a 

spy?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  pursue  this  ennobling  profession  with  an 
enthusiasm  which  does  not  stop  short  of  murder !" 

"I  had  no  choice." 

"Hadn't  you?  Your  business  seems  to  be  rather  a 
deadly  one,  doesn't  it,  Scheherazade?" 

"Yes,  it  might  become  so.  ...  Mr.  Neeland,  I  have 
no  personal  feeling  of  anger  for  you.  You  offered  me 
violence ;  you  behaved  brutally,  indecently.  But  I  want 
you  to  understand  that  no  petty  personal  feeling  in 
cites  me.  The  wrong  you  have  done  me  is  nothing;  the 

178 


THE  LOCKED  HOUSE 


injury  you  threaten  to  do  my  country  is  very  grave.  I 
ask  you  to  believe  that  I  speak  the  truth.  It  is  in  the 
service  of  my  country  that  I  have  acted.  Nothing 
matters  to  me  except  my  country's  welfare.  Individ 
uals  are  nothing ;  the  Fatherland  everything.  .  .  .  Will 
you  give  me  back  my  papers?" 

"No.     I  shall  return  them  to  their  owner." 

"Is  that  final?" 

"It  is." 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said. 

A  moment  later  the  lights  of  Orangeville  came  into 
distant  view  across  the  dark  and  rolling  country. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SCHEHERAZADE 

AT  the  Orangeville  garage  Neeland  stopped  his  car, 
put  on  his  straw  hat,  got  out  carrying  suitcase  and  box, 
entered  the  office,  and  turned  over  the  care  of  the  ma 
chine  to  an  employee  with  orders  to  drive  it  back  to 
Neeland's  Mills  the  next  morning. 

Then  he  leisurely  returned  to  his  prisoner  who  had 
given  him  her  name  as  Use  Dumont  and  who  was  stand 
ing  on  the  sidewalk  beside  the  car. 

"Well,  Scheherazade,"  he  said,  smiling,  "teller  of 
marvellous  tales,  I  don't  quite  believe  your  stories,  but 
they  were  extremely  entertaining.  So  I  won't  bow 
string  you  or  cut  off  your  unusually  attractive  head! 
No!  On  the  contrary,  I  thank  you  for  your  wonder- 
tales,  and  for  not  murdering  me.  And,  furthermore, 
I  bestow  upon  you  your  liberty.  Have  you  sufficient 
cash  to  take  you  where  you  desire  to  waft  your 
self?" 

All  the  time  her  dark,  unsmiling  eyes  remained  fixed 
on  him,  calmly  unresponsive  to  his  badinage. 

"I'm  sorry  I  had  to  be  rough  with  you,  Schehera 
zade,"  he  continued,  "but  when  a  young  lady  sews  her 
clothes  full  of  papers  which  don't  belong  to  her,  what, 
I  ask  you,  is  a  modest  young  man  to  do?" 

She  said  nothing. 

"It  becomes  necessary  for  that  modest  young  man 
to  can  his  modesty — and  the  young  lady's.  Is  there 
anything  else  he  could  do?"  he  repeated  gaily. 

180 


SCHEHERAZADE 

"He  had  better  return  those  papers,"  she  replied  in 
a  low  voice. 

"I'm  sorry,  Scheherazade,  but  it  isn't  done  in  ultra- 
crooked  circles.  Are  you  sure  you  have  enough  money 
to  go  where  destiny  and  booty  call  you?" 

"I  have  what  I  require,"  she  answered  dryly. 

"Then  good-bye,  Pearl  of  the  Harem !  Without  ran 
cour,  I  offer  you  the  hand  that  reluctantly  chastened 
you." 

They  remained  facing  each  other  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  his  expression  was  mischievously  amused ;  hers 
inscrutable.  Then,  as  he  patiently  and  good-humour- 
edly  continued  to  offer  her  his  hand,  very  slowly  she 
laid  her  own  in  it,  still  looking  him  directly  in  the  eyes. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"For  what?     For  not  shooting  me?" 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Neeland.  .  .  .  You're  only 
a  boy,  after  all.  You  know  nothing.  And  you  refuse 
to  learn.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry.  .  .  .  Good-bye." 

"Could  I  take  you  anywhere?  To  the  Hotel  Or 
ange?  I've  time.  The  station  is  across  the  street." 

"No,"  she  said. 

She  walked  leisurely  along  the  poorly  lighted  street 
and  turned  the  first  corner  as  though  at  hazard.  The 
next  moment  her  trim  and  graceful  figure  had  disap 
peared. 

With  his  heart  still  gay  from  the  night's  excitement, 
and  the  drop  of  Irish  blood  in  him  lively  as  champagne, 
he  crossed  the  square  briskly,  entered  the  stuffy  sta 
tion,  bought  a  ticket,  and  went  out  to  the  wooden  plat 
form  beside  the  rails. 

Placing  box  and  suitcase  side  by  side,  he  seated  him 
self  upon  them  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Here  was  an  adventure !     Whether  or  not  he  under- 
181 


THE  DARK  STAR 


stood  it,  here  certainly  was  a  real,  story-book  adventure 
at  last.  And  he  began  to  entertain  a  little  more  re 
spect  for  those  writers  of  romance  who  have  so  per 
sistently  attempted  to  convince  an  incredulous  world 
that  adventures  are  to  be  had  anywhere  and  at  any  time 
for  the  mere  effort  entailed  in  seeking  them. 

In  his  case,  however,  he  had  not  sought  adventure. 
It  had  been  thrust  upon  him  by  cable. 

And  now  the  drop  of  Irish  in  him  gratefully  re 
sponded.  He  was  much  obliged  to  Fate  for  his  eve 
ning's  entertainment ;  he  modestly  ventured  to  hope  for 
favours  to  come.  And,  considering  the  coolly  veiled 
threats  of  this  young  woman  whom  he  had  treated  with 
scant  ceremony,  he  had  some  reason  to  expect  a  sequel 
to  the  night's  adventure. 

"She,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "had  nothing  on  Godiva 
— except  a  piano  cover!" 

Recollection  of  the  absurd  situation  incited  his  repre 
hensible  merriment  to  the  point  of  unrestrained  laugh 
ter;  and  he  clasped  his  knees  and  rocked  to  and  fro, 
where  he  sat  on  his  suitcase,  all  alone  under  the  stars. 

The  midnight  express  was  usually  from  five  to  forty 
minutes  late  at  Orangeville;  but  from  there  east  it 
made  up  time  on  the  down  grade  to  Albany. 

And  now,  as  he  sat  watching,  far  away  along  the 
riverside  a  star  came  gliding  into  view  around  an  un 
seen  curve — the  headlight  of  a  distant  locomotive. 

A  few  moments  later  he  was  in  his  drawing-room, 
seated  on  the  edge  of  the  couch,  his  door  locked,  the 
shade  over  the  window  looking  on  the  corridor  drawn 
down  as  far  as  it  would  go;  and  the  train  rushing 
through  the  starry  night  on  the  down  grade  toward 
Albany. 

He  could  not  screen  the  corridor  window  entirely; 
182 


SCHEHERAZADE 

the  shade  seemed  to  be  too  short;  but  it  was  late,  the 
corridor  dark,  all  the  curtains  in  the  car  closed  tightly 
over  the  berths,  and  his  privacy  was  not  likely  to  be 
disturbed.  And  when  the  conductor  had  taken  both 
tickets  and  the  porter  had  brought  him  a  bottle  of 
mineral  water  and  gone  away,  he  settled  down  with 
great  content. 

Neeland  was  in  excellent  humour.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  inclination  to  sleep.  He  sat  on  the  side  of  his 
bed,  smoking,  the  olive-wood  box  lying  open  beside  him, 
and  its  curious  contents  revealed. 

But  now,  as  he  carefully  examined  the  papers,  pho 
tographs,  and  drawings,  he  began  to  take  the  affair  a 
little  more  seriously.  And  the  possibility  of  further 
trouble  raised  his  already  high  spirits  and  caused  that 
little  drop  of  Irish  blood  to  sing  agreeably  in  his 
veins. 

Dipping  into  Herr  Wilner's  diary  added  a  fillip  to 
the  increasing  fascination  that  was  possessing  him. 

"Well,  I'm  damned,"  he  thought,  "if  it  doesn't  really 
look  as  though  the  plans  of  these  Turkish  forts  might 
be  important!  I'm  not  very  much  astonished  that  the 
Kaiser  and  the  Sultan  desire  to  keep  for  themselves  the 
secrets  of  these  fortifications.  They  really  belong  to 
them,  too.  They  were  drawn  and  planned  by  a  Ger 
man."  He  shrugged.  "A  rotten  alliance!"  he  mut 
tered,  and  picked  up  the  bronze  Chinese  figure  to  ex 
amine  it. 

"So  you're  the  Yellow  Devil  I've  heard  about!"  he 
said.  "Well,  you  certainly  are  a  pippin !" 

Inspecting  him  with  careless  curiosity,  he  turned  the 
bronze  over  and  over  between  his  hands,  noticing  a 
slight  rattling  sound  that  seemed  to  come  from  within 
but  discovering  no  reason  for  it.  And,  as  he  curiously 

183 


THE  DARK  STAR 


considered  the  scowling  demon,  he  hummed  an  old  song 
of  his  father's  under  his  breath: 

"Wan   balmy   day   in   May 
Th'  ould  Nick  come  to  the  dure; 
Sez   I   'The  divil's  to  pay, 
An'  the  debt  comes  harrd  on  the  poor!' 
His  eyes  they   shone  like  fire 
An'  he  gave  a  horrid  groan; 
Sez  I  to  me  sister  Suke, 

'Suke ! ! ! ! 
Tell  him  I  ain't  at  home!' 

"He   stood  forninst  the  dure, 
His  wings  were  wings  of  a  bat, 
An'  he  raised  his  voice  to  a  roar, 
An'  the  tail  of  him  switched  like  a  cat, 
'O  wirra  the  day!'  sez  I, 
'Ochone  I'll  no  more  roam!' 
Sez  I  to  me  brother  Luke, 

'Luke!!!! 
Tell  him  I  ain't  at  home !'  " 

As  he  laid  the  bronze  figure  away  and  closed,  locked 
and  strapped  the  olive-wood  box,  an  odd  sensation  crept 
over  him  as  though  somebody  were  overlooking  what  he 
was  doing.  Of  course  it  could  not  be  true,  but  so  sud 
den  and  so  vivid  was  the  impression  that  he  rose,  opened 
the  door,  and  glanced  into  the  private  washroom — even 
poked  under  the  bed  and  the  opposite  sofa;  and  of 
course  discovered  that  only  a  living  skeleton  could  lie 
concealed  in  such  spaces. 

His  courage,  except  moral  courage,  had  never  been 
particularly  tested.  He  was  naturally  quite  fearless, 
•even  carelessly  so,  and  whether  it  was  the  courage  of 
ignorance  or  a  constitutional  inability  to  be  afraid 
never  bothered  his  mind  because  he  never  thought  about 
it. 

184 


SCHEHERAZADE 


Now,  amused  at  his  unusual  fit  of  caution,  he 
stretched  himself  out  on  his  bed,  still  dressed,  debating 
in  his  mind  whether  he  should  undress  and  try  to  sleep, 
or  whether  it  were  really  worth  while  before  he  boarded 
the  steamer. 

And,  as  he  lay  there,  a  cigarette  between  his  lips, 
wakeful,  his  restless  gaze  wandering,  he  suddenly 
caught  a  glimpse  of  something  moving — a  human  face 
pressed  to  the  dark  glass  of  the  corridor  window 
between  the  partly  lowered  shade  and  the  cherry-wood 
sill. 

So  amazed  was  he  that  the  face  had  disappeared 
before  he  realised  that  it  resembled  the  face  of  Use  Du- 
mont.  The  next  instant  he  was  on  his  feet  and  opening 
the  door  of  the  drawing-room ;  but  the  corridor  between 
the  curtained  berths  was  empty  and  dark  and  still ;  not 
a  curtain  fluttered. 

He  did  not  care  to  leave  his  doorway,  either,  with 
the  box  lying  there  on  his  bed ;  he  stood  with  one  hand 
on  the  knob,  listening,  peering  into  the  dusk,  still  ex 
cited  by  the  surprise  of  seeing  her  on  the  same  train 
that  he  had  taken. 

However,  on  reflection,  he  quite  understood  that  she 
could  have  had  no  difficulty  in  boarding  the  midnight 
train  for  New  York  without  being  noticed  by  him ;  be 
cause  he  was  not  expecting  her  to  do  such  a  thing  and 
he  had  paid  no  attention  to  the  group  of  passengers 
emerging  from  the  waiting  room  when  the  express  rolled 
in. 

"This  is  rather  funny,"  he  thought.  "I  wish  I  could 
find  her.  I  wish  she'd  be  friendly  enough  to  pay  me  a 
visit.  Scheherazade  is  certainly  an  entertaining  girl. 
And  it's  several  hours  to  New  York." 

He  lingered  a  while  longer,  but  seeing  and  hearing 
185 


THE  DARK  STAR 


nothing1  except  darkness  and  assorted  snores,  he  stepped 
into  his  stateroom  and  locked  the  door  again. 

Sleep  was  now  impossible;  the  idea  of  Scheherazade 
prowling  in  the  dark  corridor  outside  amused  him  in 
tensely,  and  aroused  every  atom  of  his  curiosity.  Did 
the  girl  really  expect  an  opportunity  to  steal  the  box? 
Or  was  she  keeping  a  sinister  eye  on  him  with  a  view  to 
summoning  accomplices  from  vasty  metropolitan  deeps 
as  soon  as  the  train  arrived?  Or,  having  failed  at 
Brookhollow,  was  she  merely  going  back  to  town  to 
report  "progress  backward"? 

Pie  finished  his  mineral  water,  and,  still  feeling 
thirsty,  rang,  on  the  chance  that  the  porter  might  still 
be  awake  and  obliging. 

Something  about  the  entire  affair  was  beginning  to 
strike  him  as  intensely  funny,  and  the  idea  of  foreign 
spies  slinking  about  Brookhollow;  the  seriousness  with 
which  this  young  girl  took  herself  and  her  mission ;  her 
amateur  attempts  at  murder;  her  solemn  mention  of 
the  Turkish  Embassy — all  these  excited  his  sense  of  the 
humorous.  And  again  incredulity  crept  in;  and  pres 
ently  he  found  himself  humming  Irwin's  immortal  Kai 
ser  refrain: 

"Hi-lee!  Hi-lo! 
Der  vinds  dey  blow 
Joost    like    die    wacht    am    Rhine! 
Und   vot   iss   mine   belongs   to   me, 
Und  vot  iss  yours  iss  mine!" 

There  came  a  knock  at  his  door;  he  rose  and  opened 
it,  supposing  it  to  be  the  porter;  and  was  seized  in  the 
powerful  grasp  of  two  men  and  jerked  into  the  dark 
corridor. 

One  of  them  had  closed  his  mouth  with  a  gloved  hand, 
186 


SCHEHERAZADE 

crushing  him  with  an  iron  grip  around  the  neck ;  the 
other  caught  his  legs  and  lifted  him  bodily ;  and,  as  they 
slung  him  between  them,  his  startled  eyes  caught  sight 
of  Use  Dumont  entering  his  drawing-room. 

It  was  a  silent,  fierce  struggle  through  the  corridor 
to  the  front  platform  of  the  vestibule  train;  it  took 
both  men  to  hold,  overpower,  and  completely  master 
him ;  but  they  tried  to  do  this  and,  at  the  same  time, 
lift  the  trap  that  discloses  the  car  steps.  And  could 
not  manage  it. 

The  instant  Neeland  realised  what  they  were  trying 
to  do,  he  divined  their  shocking  intention  in  regard  to 
himself,  and  the  struggle  became  terrible  there  in  the 
swaying  vestibule.  Twice  he  nearly  got  at  the  auto 
matic  pistol  in  his  breast  pocket,  but  could  not  quite 
grasp  it.  They  slammed  him  and  thrashed  him  around 
between  them,  apparently  determined  to  open  the  trap, 
fling  him  from  the  train,  and  let  him  take  his  chances 
with  the  wheels. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  came  a  change  in  the  fortunes  of 
war ;  they  were  trying  to  drag  him  over  the  chain  sag 
ging  between  the  forward  mail-car  and  the  Pullman, 
when  one  of  them  caught  his  foot  on  it  and  stumbled 
backward,  releasing  Neeland's  right  arm.  In  the  same 
instant  he  drove  his  fist  into  the  face  of  his  other  assail 
ant  so  hard  that  the  man's  head  jerked  backward  as 
though  his  neck  were  broken,  and  he  fell  flat  on  his 
back. 

Already  the  train  was  slowing  down  for  the  single 
stop  between  Albany  and  New  York — Hudson.  Nee- 
land  got  out  his  pistol  and  pointed  it  shakily  at  the  man 
who  had  fallen  backward  over  the  chain. 

"Jump!"  he  panted.     "Jump  quick!" 

The  man  needed  no  other  warning;  he  opened  the 
187 


THE  DARK  STAB 


trap,  scrambled  and  wriggled  down  the  mail-car  steps, 
and  was  off  the  train  like  a  snake  from  a  sack. 

The  other  man,  bloody  and  ghastly  white,  crept  un 
der  the  chain  after  his  companion.  He  was  a  well- 
built,  good-looking  man  of  forty,  with  blue  eyes  and  a 
golden  beard  all  over  blood.  He  seemed  sick  from  the 
terrific  blow  dealt  him;  but  as  the  train  had  almost 
stopped,  Neeland  pushed  him  off  with  the  flat  of  his 
foot. 

Drenched  in  perspiration,  dishevelled,  bruised,  he 
slammed  both  traps  and  ran  back  into  the  dark  corri 
dor,  and  met  Use  Dumont  coming  out  of  his  stateroom 
carrying  the  olive-wood  box. 

His  appearance  appeared  to  stupefy  her ;  he  took  the 
box  from  her  without  resistance,  and,  pushing  her  back 
into  the  stateroom,  locked  the  door. 

Then,  still  savagely  excited,  and  the  hot  blood  of 
battle  still  seething  in  his  veins,  he  stood  staring  wick 
edly  into  her  dazed  eyes,  the  automatic  pistol  hanging 
from  his  right  fist. 

But  after  a  few  moments  something  in  her  nai've  as 
tonishment — her  amazement  to  see  him  alive  and  stand 
ing  there  before  her — appealed  to  him  as  intensely  ludi 
crous  ;  he  dropped  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  burst  into 
laughter  uncontrolled. 

"Scheherazade!  Oh,  Scheherazade!"  he  said,  weak 
with  laughter,  "if  you  could  only  see  your  face !  If  you 
could  only  see  it,  my  dear  child !  It's  too  funny  to  be 
true!  It's  too  funny  to  be  a  real  face!  Oh,  dear,  I'll 
die  if  I  laugh  any  more.  You'll  assassinate  me  with 
your  face !" 

She  seated  herself  on  the  lounge  opposite,  still  gazing 
blankly  at  him  in  his  uncontrollable  mirth. 

After  a  while  he  put  back  the  automatic  into  his 
188 


He  drove  his  fist  into  the  face  of  his  other  assailant. 


SCHEHERAZADE 


breast  pocket,  took  off  coat  and  waistcoat,  without  pay 
ing  the  slightest  heed  to  her  or  to  convention ;  opened 
his  own  suitcase,  selected  a  fresh  shirt,  tie,  and  collar, 
and,  taking  with  him  his  coat  and  the  olive-wood  box, 
went  into  the  little  washroom. 

He  scarcely  expected  to  find  her  there  when  he 
emerged,  cooled  and  refreshed;  but  she  was  still  there, 
seated  as  he  had  left  her  on  the  lounge. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "did 
you  AriK  them?" 

"Not  at  all,  Scheherazade,"  he  replied  gaily.  "The 
Irish  don't  kill;  they  beat  up  their  friends;  that's  alL 
Fist  and  blackthorn,  my  pretty  lass,  but  nix  for  the 
knife  and  gun." 

"How— did  you  do  it?" 

"Well,  I  got  tired  having  a  ham-fisted  Dutchman 
pawing  me  and  closing  my  mouth  with  his  big  splay 
fingers.  So  I  asked  him  to  slide  overboard  and  shoved 
his  friend  after  him." 

"Did  you  shoot  them?" 

"No,  I  tell  you !"  he  said  disgustedly.  "I  hadn't  a 
chance  in  hot  blood,  and  I  couldn't  do  it  in  cold.  No, 
Scheherazade,  I  didn't  shoot.  I  pulled  a  gun  for  dra 
matic  effect,  that's  all." 

After  a  silence  she  asked  him  in  a  low  voice  what  he 
intended  to  do  with  her. 

"Do?  Nothing!  Chat  affably  with  you  until  we 
reach  town,  if  you  don't  mind.  Nothing  more  violent 
than  that,  Scheherazade." 

The  girl,  sitting  sideways  on  the  sofa,  leaned  her 
head  against  the  velvet  corner  as  though  very  tired. 
Her  small  hands  lay  in  her  lap  listlessly,  palms  up 
turned. 

"Are  you  really  tired?"  he  asked. 
189 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Yes,  a  little." 

He  took  the  two  pillows  from  his  bed  and  placed 
them  on  the  sofa. 

"You  may  lie  down  if  you  like,  Scheherazade." 

"Won't  you  need  them?" 

"Sunburst  of  my  soul,  if  I  pillow  my  head  on  any 
thing  while  you  are  in  the  vicinity,  it  will  be  on  that 
olive-wood  box!" 

For  the  first  time  the  faintest  trace  of  a  smile 
touched  her  lips.  She  turned,  settled  the  pillows  to  her 
liking,  and  stretched  out  her  supple  figure  on  the  sofa 
with  a  slight  sigh. 

"Shall  I  talk  to  you,  Scheherazade,  or  let  you  snug 
gle  into  the  chaste  arms  of  Morpheus?" 

"I  can't  sleep." 

"Is  it  a  talk-fest,  then?" 

"I  am  listening." 

"Then,  were  the  two  recent  gentlemen  who  so  rudely 
pounced  upon  me  the  same  gentlemen  who  so  cheerfully 
chased  me  in  an  automobile  when  you  made  red  fire?" 

"Yes." 

"I  was  betting  on  it.  Nice-looking  man — the  one 
with  the  classical  map  and  the  golden  Frick." 

She  said  nothing. 

"Scheherazade,"  he  continued  with  smiling  malice, 
"do  you  realise  that  you  are  both  ornamental  and 
young?  Why  so  young  and  murderous,  fair  houri? 
Why  delight  in  manslaughter  in  any  degree  ?  Why  cul 
tivate  assault  and  battery?  Why  swipe  the  property 
of  others?" 

She  closed  her  eyes  on  the  pillow,  but,  as  he  remained 
silent,  presently  opened  them  again. 

"I  asked  them  not  to  hurt  you,"  she  said  irrele 
vantly. 

190 


I 

I 

Cu 

03 


SCHEHERAZADE 


"Who?  Oh,  your  strenuous  friends  with  the  footpad 
technique?  Well,  they  obeyed  you  unwillingly." 

"Did  they  hurt  you?" 

"Oh,  no.     But  the  car-wheels  might  have." 

"The  car-wheels?" 

"Yes.  They  were  all  for  dumping  me  down  the  steps 
of  the  vestibule.  But  I've  got  a  nasty  disposition,  Sche 
herazade,  and  I  kicked  and  bit  and  screamed  so  lustily 
that  I  disgusted  them  and  they  simply  left  the  train 
and  concluded  to  cut  my  acquaintance." 

It  was  evident  that  his  good-humoured  mockery 
perplexed  her.  Once  or  twice  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
passed  over  her  dark  eyes,  but  they  remained  uncertain 
and  watchful. 

"You  really  were  astonished  to  see  me  alive  again, 
weren't  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  surprised  to  see  you,  of  course." 

"Alive?" 

"I  told  you  that  I  asked  them  not  to  really  hurt 

you." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  believe  that,  after  your  pistol 
practice  on  me?" 

"It  is  true,"  she  replied,  her  eyes  resting  on  him. 

"You  wished  to  reserve  me  for  more  pistol  practice?" 

"I  have  no — enmity — for  you." 

"Oh,  Scheherazade!"  he  protested,  laughing. 

"You  are  wrong,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"After  all  I  did  to  you?" 

To  his  surprise  a  bright  blush  spread  over  her  face 
where  it  lay  framed  by  the  pillows ;  she  turned  her  head 
abruptly  and  lay  without  speaking. 

He  sat  thinking  for  a  few  minutes,  then  leaning  for 
ward  from  where  he  sat  on  the  bed's  edge : 

"After  a  man's  been  shot  at  and  further  intimidated 
191 


THE  DARK  STAR 


with  a  large,  unpleasantly  rusty  Kurdish  dagger,  he  is 
likely  to  proceed  without  ceremony.  All  the  same,  I 
am  sorry  I  had  to  humiliate  you,  Scheherazade." 

She  lay  silent,  unstirring. 

"A  girl  would  never  forgive  that,  I  know,"  he  said. 
"So  I  shall  look  for  a  short  shrift  from  you  if  your 
opportunity  ever  comes." 

The  girl  appeared  to  be  asleep.  He  stood  up  and 
looked  down  at  her.  The  colour  had  faded  from  the 
one  cheek  visible.  For  a  while  he  listened  to  her  quiet 
breathing,  then,  the  imp  of  perversity  seizing  him,  and 
intensely  diverted  by  the  situation,  he  bent  over  her, 
touched  her  cheek  with  his  lips,  put  on  his  hat,  took 
box  and  suitcase,  and  went  out  to  spend  the  remaining 
hour  or  two  in  the  smoking  room,  leaving  her  to  sleep 
in  peace. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  closed  the  door  on  her  than 
the  girl  sat  straight  up  on  the  sofa,  her  face  surging  in 
colour,  and  her  eyes  brilliant  with  starting  tears. 

When  the  train  arrived  at  the  Grand  Central  Station, 
in  the  grey  of  a  July  morning,  Neeland,  finding  the 
stateroom  empty,  lingered  to  watch  for  her  among  the 
departing  passengers. 

But  he  lingered  in  vain ;  and  presently  a  taxicab  took 
him  and  his  box  to  the  Cunard  docks,  and  deposited  him 
there.  And  an  hour  later  he  was  in  his  cabin  on  board 
that  vast  ensemble  of  machinery  and  luxury,  the  Cu- 
narder  Volhynia,  outward  bound,  and  headed  straight 
at  the  dazzling  disc  of  the  rising  sun. 

And  thought  of  Scheherazade  faded  from  his  mind  as 
a  tale  that  is  told. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  WHITE  SKIRT 

IT  was  in  mid-ocean  that  Neeland  finally  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  nobody  on  board  the  Volliynia  was 
likely  to  bother  him  or  his  box. 

The  July  weather  had  been  magnificent — blue  skies, 
a  gentle  wind,  and  a  sea  scarcely  silvered  by  a  comber. 

Assorted  denizens  of  the  Atlantic  took  part  in  the 
traditional  vaudeville  performance  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Volliynia  passengers ;  gulls  followed  the  wake  to  mid- 
ocean  ;  Mother  Carey's  chickens  skimmed  the  baby  bil 
lows  ;  dolphins  turned  watery  flip-flaps  under  the  bows ; 
and  even  a  distant  whale  consented  to  oblige. 

Everybody  pervaded  the  decks  morning,  noon,  and 
evening;  the  most  squeamish  recovered  confidence  in 
twenty-four  hours;  and  every  constitutional  lubber 
concluded  he  was  a  born  sailor. 

Neeland  really  was  one ;  no  nausea  born  from  the  bad 
adjustment  of  that  anatomical  auricular  gyroscope  re 
cently  discovered  in  man  ever  disturbed  his  abdominal 
nerves.  Short  of  shipwreck,  he  enjoyed  any  entertain 
ment  the  Atlantic  offered  him. 

So  he  was  always  on  deck,  tranquilly  happy  and  with 
nothing  in  the  world  to  disturb  him  except  his  responsi 
bility  for  the  olive-wood  box. 

He  dared  not  leave  it  in  his  locked  cabin;  he  dared 
not  entrust  it  to  anybody ;  he  lugged  it  about  with  him 
wherever  he  went.  On  deck  it  stood  beside  his  steamer 
chair;  it  dangled  from  his  hand  when  he  promenaded, 

193 


THE  DARK  STAR 


exciting  the  amazement  and  curiosity  of  others ;  it  re 
posed  on  the  floor  under  the  table  and  beneath  his  at 
tentive  feet  when  he  was  at  meals. 

These  elaborate  precautions  indicated  his  wholesome 
respect  for  the  persistence  of  Scheherazade  and  her 
friends ;  he  was  forever  scanning  his  fellow-voyagers 
at  table,  in  the  smoking  room,  and  as  they  strolled  to 
and  fro  in  front  of  his  steamer  chair,  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  concerning  them. 

But  Neeland,  a  clever  observer  of  externals,  was  no 
reader  of  character.  The  passenger  list  never  seemed 
to  confirm  any  conclusions  he  arrived  at  concerning  any 
of  the  passengers  on  the  Volhyma.  A  gentleman  he 
mistook  for  an  overfed  broker  turned  out  to  be  a  popu 
lar  clergyman  with  outdoor  proclivities ;  a  slim,  poetic- 
looking  youth  who  carried  a  copy  of  "Words  and 
Wind"  about  the  deck  travelled  for  the  Gold  Leaf  Lard 
Company. 

Taking  them  all  in  all,  Neeland  concluded  that  they 
were  as  harmless  a  collection  of  re  cone  entr  ados  as  he 
had  ever  observed;  and  he  was  strongly  tempted  to 
leave  the  box  in  his  locked  stateroom. 

He  decided  to  do  so  one  afternoon  after  luncheon, 
and,  lugging  his  box,  started  to  return  to  his  stateroom 
with  that  intention,  instead  of  going  on  deck,  as  usual, 
for  a  postprandial  cigarette. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  main  corridor  as  he  passed, 
but  in  the  short,  carpeted  passage  leading  to  his  state 
room  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  serge  skirt  vanish 
ing  into  the  stateroom  opposite  to  his,  and  heard  the 
door  close  and  the  noise  of  a  key  turned  quickly. 

His  steward,  being  questioned  on  the  first  day  out, 
had  told  him  that  this  stateroom  was  occupied  by  an 
invalid  gentleman  travelling  alone,  who  preferred  to 

194 


A  WHITE  SKIRT 


remain  there  instead  of  trusting  to  his  crutches  on  a 
temperamental  deck. 

Neeland,  passing1  the  closed  and  curtained  door,  won 
dered  whether  the  invalid  had  made  a  hit,  or  whether 
he  had  a  relative  aboard  who  wore  a  white  serge  skirt, 
white  stockings  and  shoes,  and  was  further  endowed 
with  agreeable  ankles. 

He  fitted  his  key  to  his  door,  turned  it,  withdrew  the 
key  to  pocket  it;  and  immediately  became  aware  that 
the  end  of  the  key  was  sticky. 

He  entered  the  stateroom,  however,  and  bolted  the 
door,  then  he  sat  down  on  his  sofa  and  examined  his 
fingers  and  his  door  key  attentively.  There  was  wax 
sticking  to  both. 

When  he  had  fully  digested  this  fact  he  wiped  and 
pocketed  his  key  and  cast  a  rather  vacant  look  around 
the  little  stateroom.  And  immediately  his  eye  was 
arrested  by  a  white  object  lying  on  the  carpet  between 
the  bed  and, the  sofa — a  woman's  handkerchief,  without 
crest  or  initials,  but  faintly  scented. 

After  he  became  tired  of  alternately  examining  it 
and  sniffing  it,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  began  an  un 
easy  tour  of  his  room. 

If  it  had  been  entered  and  ransacked,  everything  had 
been  replaced  exactly  as  he  had  left  it,  as  well  as  he 
could  remember.  Nothing  excepting  this  handkerchief 
and  the  wax  on  the  key  indicated  intrusion;  nothing, 
apparently,  had  been  disturbed ;  and  yet  there  was  the 
handkerchief;  and  there  was  the  wax  on  the  end  of  his 
door  key. 

"Here's  a  fine  business !"  he  muttered  to  himself;  and 
rang  for  his  steward. 

The  man  came — a  cockney,  dense  as  his  native  fog — 
who  maintained  that  nobody  could  have  entered  the 

195 


THE  DARK  STAR 


stateroom  without  his  knowledge  or  the  knowledge  of 
the  stewardess. 

"Do  you  think  she's  been  in  my  cabin?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Call  her." 

The  stewardess,  an  alert,  intelligent  little  woman 
with  a  trace  of  West  Indian  blood  in  her,  denied  en 
tering  his  stateroom.  Shown  the  handkerchief  and  in 
vited  to  sniff  it,  she  professed  utter  ignorance  concern 
ing  it,  assured  him  that  no  lady  in  her  section  used  that 
perfume,  and  offered  to  show  it  to  the  stewardesses  of 
other  sections  on  the  chance  of  their  identifying  the 
perfume  or  the  handkerchief. 

"All  right,"  said  Neeland;  "take  it.  But  bring  it 
back.  And  here's  a  sovereign.  And — one  thing  more. 
If  anybody  pays  you  to  deceive  me,  come  to  me  and 
I'll  outbid  them.  Is  that  a  bargain?" 

"Yes,   sir,"   she  said  unblushingly. 

When  she  had  gone  away  with  the  handkerchief,  Nee- 
land  closed  the  door  again  and  said  to  the  steward : 

"Keep  an  eye  on  my  door.  I  am  positive  that  some 
body  has  taken  a  wax  impression  of  the  keyhole.  What 
I  said  to  that  stewardess  also  holds  good  with  you.  I'll 
outbid  anybody  who  bribes  you." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"Sure  it's  good!  It's  devilish  good.  Here's  a  beau 
tiful  and  newly  minted  gold  sovereign.  Isn't  it  artistic  ? 
It's  yours,  steward." 

"Thanky,  sir." 

"Not  at  all.  And,  by  the  way,  what's  that  invalid 
gentleman's  name?" 

"  'Awks,  sir." 

"Hawks?" 

"Yes,  sir;  Mr.  'Erbert  'Awks." 
196 


A  WHITE  SKIRT 


"American?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"British?" 

"Shall  I  inquire,  sir?"  starting  to  go. 

"Not  of  him!  Don't  be  a  lunatic,  steward!  Please 
try  to  understand  that  I  want  nothing  said  about  this 
matter  or  about  my  inquiries." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well,  then!  Find  out,  if  you  can,  who  Mr. 
Herbert  Hawks  is.  Find  out  all  you  can  concerning 
him.  It's  easy  money,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir " 

"Wait  a  moment.  Has  he  any  friends  or  relatives 
on  board?" 

"Not  that  I  know,  sir." 

"Oh,  no  friends,  eh?  No  ladies  who  wear  white  serge 
skirts  and  white  shoes  and  stockings?" 

"No,  sir,  not  as  I  knows  of." 

"Oh!  Suppose  you  step  across  to  his  door,  knock, 
and  ask  him  if  he  rang.  And,  if  the  door  is  opened, 
take  a  quick  slant  at  the  room." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

Neeland,  his  door  at  the  crack,  watched  the  steward 
cross  the  corridor  and  knock  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Her 
bert  Hawks. 

"Well,  what  iss  it?"  came  a  heavy  voice  from  within. 

"Mr.  'Awks,  sir,  did  you  ring?" 

"No,  I  did  not." 

"Oh,  beg  pardon,  sir " 

The  steward  was  starting  to  return  to  Neeland,  but 
that  young  man  motioned  him  violently  away  from  his 
door  and  closed  it.  Then,  listening,  his  ear  against 
the  panel,  he  presently  heard  a  door  in  the  passage 
creak  open  a  little  way,  then  close  again,  stealthily. 

197 


THE  DARK  STAR 


He  possessed  his  soul  in  patience,  believing  that  Mr. 
Hawks  or  his  fair  friend  in  the  white  skirt  had  merely 
taken  a  preliminary  survey  of  the  passage  and  perhaps 
also  of  his  closed  door.  But  the  vigil  was  vain ;  the  door 
did  not  reopen;  no  sound  came  from  the  stateroom 
across  the  passageway. 

To  make  certain  that  the  owner  of  the  white  shoes 
and  stockings  did  not  leave  that  stateroom  without  his 
knowledge,  he  opened  his  door  with  many  precautions 
and  left  it  on  the  crack,  stretching  a  rubber  band  from 
knob  to  bolt,  so  that  the  wind  from  the  open  port  in 
the  passage  should  not  blow  it  shut.  Then,  drawing  his 
curtain,  he  sat  down  to  wait. 

He  had  a  book,  one  of  those  slobbering  American 
novels  which  serve  up  falsehood  thickly  buttered  with 
righteousness  and  are  consumed  by  the  morally  steri 
lised. 

And,  as  he  smoked  he  read;  and,  as  he  read  he  lis 
tened.  One  eye  always  remained  on  duty;  one  ear  was 
alert;  he  meant  to  see  who  was  the  owner  of  the 
white  shoes  if  it  took  the  remainder  of  the  voyage  to 
find  out. 

The  book  aided  him  as  a  commonplace  accompani 
ment  aids  a  soloist — alternately  boring  and  exasperat 
ing  him. 

It  was  an  "uplift"  book,  where  the  heroine  receives 
whacks  with  patient  smiles.  Fate  boots  her  from  pillar 
to  post  and  she  blesses  Fate  and  is  much  obliged.  That 
most  deadly  reproach  to  degenerate  human  nature — 
the  accidental  fact  of  sex — had  been  so  skilfully  extir 
pated  from  those  pages  that,  like  chaste  amoebae,  the 
characters  merely  multiplied  by  immaculate  subdivision  ; 
and  millions  of  lineal  descendants  of  the  American  Dodo 
were  made  gleeful  for  $1.50  net. 

198 


A  WHITE  SKIRT 


It  was  hard  work  waiting,  harder  work  reading,  but 
between  the  two  and  a  cigarette  now  and  then  Neeland 
managed  to  do  his  sentry  go  until  dinner  time  ap 
proached  and  the  corridors  resounded  with  the  trample 
of  the  hungry. 

The  stewardess  reappeared  a  little  later  and  re 
turned  to  him  his  handkerchief  and  the  following  infor 
mation  : 

Mr.  Hawks,  it  appeared,  travelled  with  a  trained 
nurse,  whose  stateroom  was  on  another  deck.  That 
nurse  was  not  in  her  stateroom,  but  a  similar  handker 
chief  was,  scented  with  similar  perfume. 

"You're  a  wonder,"  said  Neeland,  placing  some  more 
sovereigns  in  her  palm  and  closing  her  fingers  over 
them.  "What  is  the  nurse's  name?" 

"Miss  White." 

"Very  suitable  name.  Has  she  ever  before  visited 
Herr — I  mean  Mr. — Hawks  in  his  stateroom?" 

"Her  stewardess  says  she  has  been  indisposed  since 
we  left  New  York." 

"Hasn't  been  out  of  her  cabin?" 

"No." 

"I  see.    Did  you  inquire  what  she  looked  like?" 

"Her  stewardess  couldn't  be  certain.  The  stateroom 
was  kept  dark  and  the  tray  containing  her  meals  was 
left  at  the  bedside.  Miss  White  smokes." 

"Yes,"  said  Neeland  reflectively,  "she  smokes  Red 
Light  cigarettes,  I  believe.  Thank  you,  very  much. 
More  sovereigns  if  you  are  discreet.  And  say  to  my 
steward  that  I'll  dine  in  my  stateroom.  Soup,  fish, 
meat,  any  old  thing  you  can  think  of.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Perfectly,  sir." 

When  she  had  withdrawn  he  kneeled  down  on  his 
199 


THE  DARK  STAR 


sofa  and  looked  out  through  the  port  at  the  sunset 
sea. 

There  was  a  possibility  that  Scheherazade  and  her 
friends  might  be  on  board  the  Volhynia.  Who  else 
would  be  likely  to  take  wax  impressions  of  his  keyhole 
and  leave  a  scented  scrap  of  a  handkerchief  on  his 
stateroom  floor? 

That  they  had  kept  themselves  not  only  out  of  sight 
but  off  the  passenger  list  merely  corroborated  suspi 
cion.  That's  what  they'd  be  likely  to  do. 

And  now  there  was  no  question  in  his  mind  of  leaving 
the  box  in  his  cabin.  He'd  cling  to  it  like  a  good 
woman  to  alimony.  Death  alone  could  separate  his  box 
from  him. 

As  he  knelt  there,  sniffing  the  salt  perfume  of  the  sea, 
his  ears  on  duty  detected  the  sound  of  a  tray  in  the 
corridor. 

"Leave  it  on  the  camp-table  outside  my  door!"  he 
said  over  his  shoulder. 

"Very  good,  sir." 

He  was  not  hungry ;  he  was  thinking  too  hard. 

"Confound  it,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "am  I  to  squat 
here  in  ambush  for  the  rest  of  the  trip?" 

The  prospect  was  not  agreeable  for  a  man  who  loved 
the  sea.  All  day  and  most  of  the  starry  night  the  hur 
ricane  deck  called  to  him,  and  his  whole  anatomy  re 
sponded.  And  now  to  sit  hunched  up  here  like  a  rat  in 
the  hold  was  not  to  his  taste.  Suppose  he  should  con 
tinue  to  frequent  the  deck,  carrying  with  him  his  box, 
of  course.  He  might  never  discover  who  owned  the 
white  serge  skirt  or  who  owned  the  voice  which  pro 
nounced  is  as  "iss." 

Meanwhile,  it  occurred  to  him  that  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  or  more  his  dinner  outside  his  door  had  been 

200 


A  WHITE  SKIRT 


growing  colder  and  colder.  So  he  slid  from  the  sofa, 
unstrapped  the  rubber  band,  opened  the  door,  lifted 
table  and  tray  into  his  stateroom  with  a  sharp  glance 
at  the  opposite  door,  and,  readjusting  the  rubber  band, 
composed  himself  to  eat. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
BY  RADIO 

PERHAPS  it  was  because  he  did  not  feel  particularly 
hungry  that  his  dinner  appeared  unappetising;  possi 
bly  because  it  had  been  standing  in  the  corridor  outside 
his  door  for  twenty  minutes,  which  did  not  add  to  its 
desirability. 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  air  in  the  room  had  grown 
cold.  He  felt  chilly ;  and,  when  he  uncovered  the  silver 
tureen  and  discovered  that  the  soup  was  still  piping  hot, 
he  drank  some  of  it  to  warm  himself. 

He  had  swallowed  about  half  a  cupful  before  he  dis 
covered  that  the  seasoning  was  not  agreeable  to  his 
palate.  In  fact,  the  flavour  of  the  hot  broth  was  so 
decidedly  unpleasant  that  he  pushed  aside  the  cup  and 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bunk  without  any  further 
desire  to  eat  anything. 

A  glass  of  water  from  the  carafe  did  not  seem  to  rid 
him  of  the  subtle,  disagreeable  taste  lingering  in  his 
mouth — in  fact,  the  water  itself  seemed  to  be  tainted 
with  it. 

He  sat  for  a  few  moments  fumbling  for  his  cigarette 
case,  feeling  curiously  uncomfortable,  as  though  the 
slight  motion  of  the  ship  were  affecting  his  head. 

As  he  sat  there  looking  at  the  unlighted  cigarette  in 
his  hand,  it  fell  to  the  carpet  at  his  feet.  He  started 
to  stoop  for  it,  caught  himself  in  time,  pulled  himself 
erect  with  an  effort. 

Something  was  wrong  with  him — very  wrong.    Every 


BY  RADIO 


uneven  breath  he  drew  seemed  to  fill  his  lungs  with  the 
odour  of  that  strange  and  volatile  flavour  he  had  no 
ticed.  It  was  beginning  to  make  him  giddy;  it  seemed 
to  affect  his  vision,  too. 

Suddenly  a  terrible  comprehension  flashed  through 
his  confused  mind,  clearing  it  for  a  moment. 

He  tried  to  stand  up  and  reach  the  electric  bell;  his 
knees  seem  incapable  of  sustaining  him.  Sliding  to  the 
floor,  he  attempted  to  crawl  toward  the  olive-wood  box ; 
managed  to  get  one  arm  around  it,  grip  the  handle. 
Then,  with  a  last  desperate  effort,  he  groped  in  his 
breast  pocket  for  the  automatic  pistol,  freed  it,  tried 
to  fire  it.  But  the  weapon  and  the  unnerved  hand  that 
held  it  fell  on  the  carpet.  A  muscular  paralysis  set  in 
like  the  terrible  rigidity  of  death ;  he  could  still  see  and 
hear  as  in  a  thickening  dream. 

A  moment  later,  from  the  corridor,  a  slim  hand  was 
inserted  between  the  door  and  jamb;  the  supple  fingers 
became  busy  with  the  rubber  band  for  a  moment,  re 
leased  it.  The  door  opened  very  slowly. 

For  a  few  seconds  two  dark  eyes  were  visible  between 
door  and  curtain,  regarding  intently  the  figure  lying 
prone  upon  the  floor.  Then  the  curtain  was  twitched 
noiselessly  aside ;  a  young  woman  in  the  garb  of  a 
trained  nurse  stepped  swiftly  into  the  stateroom  on  tip 
toe,  followed  by  a  big,  good-looking,  blue-eyed  man 
wearing  a  square  golden  beard. 

The  man,  who  carried  with  him  a  pair  of  crutches, 
but  who  did  not  appear  to  require  their  aid,  hastily  set 
the  dinner-tray  and  camp-table  outside  in  the  corridor, 
then  closed  and  bolted  the  door. 

Already  the  nurse  was  down  on  her  knees  beside  the 
fallen  man,  trying  to  loosen  his  grasp  on  the  box.  Then 
her  face  blanched. 

203 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"It's  like  the  rigor  of  death  itself,"  she  whispered 
fearfully  over  her  shoulder.  "Could  I  have  given  him 
enough  to  kill  him?" 

"He  took  only  half  a  cup  and  a  swallow  of  water. 
No." 

"I  can't  get  his  hand  free " 

"Wait!  I  try!"  He  pulled  a  big,  horn-handled 
clasp-knife  from  his  pocket  and  deliberately  opened  the 
eight-inch  blade. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  whispered,  seizing  his 
wrist.  "Don't  do  that!" 

The  man  with  the  golden  beard  hesitated,  then 
shrugged,  pocketed  his  knife,  and  seized  Neeland's 
rigidly  clenched  hand. 

"You  are  right.  It  makes  too  much  muss !"  tugging 
savagely  at  the  clenched  and  unconscious  hand.  "Sac- 
reminton!  What  for  a  death-grip  is  this  Kerlys?  If  I 
cut  his  hand  off  so  iss  there  blood  and  gossip  right 
away  already.  No — too  much  muss.  Wait !  I  try  an 
other  way " 

Neeland  groaned. 

"Oh,  don't!  Don't!"  faltered  the  girl.  "You're 
breaking  his  wrist " 

"Ugh !"  grunted  her  companion ;  "I  try ;  I  can  it  not 
accomplish.  See  once  if  the  box  opens!" 

"It  is  locked." 

"Search  this  pig-dog  for  the  key!" 

She  began  a  hurried  search  of  Neeland's  clothing; 
presently  discovered  her  own  handkerchief;  thrust  it 
into  her  apron  pocket,  and  continued  rummaging  while 
the  bearded  man  turned  his  attention  to  the  automatic 
pistol.  This  he  finally  succeeded  in  disengaging,  and 
he  laid  it  on  the  wash  basin. 

"Here  are  his  keys,"  whispered  the  nurse  feverishly, 
204 


I 


The  curtain  was  twitched  noiselessly  aside. 


BY  RADIO 


holding  them  up  against  the  dim  circle  of  evening  sky 
framed  by  the  open  port.  "You  had  better  light  the 
stateroom;  I  can't  see.  Hurry!  I  think  he  is  begin 
ning  to  recover." 

When  the  bearded  man  had  switched  on  the  electric 
light  he  returned  to  kneel  once  more  beside  the  inert 
body  on  the  floor,  and  began  to  pull  and  haul  and  tug 
at  the  box  and  attempt  to  insert  the  key  in  the  lock. 
But  the  stiffened  clutch  of  the  drugged  man  made  it 
impossible  either  to  release  the  box  or  get  at  the  key 
hole. 

"Ach,  was!     Verfliichtete'  schwein-hund /"     He 

seized  the  rigid  hand  and,  exerting  all  the  strength  of 
a  brutally  inflamed  fury,  fairly  ripped  loose  the  fingers. 

"Also!"  he  panted,  seizing  the  stiffened  body  from 
the  floor  and  lifting  it.  "Hold  you  him  by  the  long 
and  Yankee  legs  once,  und  I  push  him  out " 

"Out  of  the  port?" 

"Gewiss!    Otherwise  he  recovers  to  raise  some  hell !" 

"It  is  not  necessary.     How  shall  this  man  know?" 

"You  left  your  handkerchief.  He  iss  no  fool.  He 
makes  a  noise.  No,  it  iss  safer  we  push  him  overboard." 

"I'll  take  the  papers  to  Karl,  and  then  I  can  remain 
in  my  stateroom — 

"No!  Lift  his  legs,  I  tell  you !  You  want  I  hold  him 
in  my  arms  all  day  while  you  talk,  talk,  talk !  You  take 
his  legs  right  away  quick !" 

He  staggered  a  few  paces  forward  with  his  unwieldy 
burden  and,  setting  one  knee  on  the  sofa,  attempted  to 
force  Neeland's  head  and  shoulders  through  the  open 
port.  At  the  same  moment  a  rapid  knocking  sounded 
outside  the  stateroom  door. 

"Quick!"  breathed  the  nurse.  "Throw  him  on  his 
bed!" 

205 


THE  DARK  STAR 


The  blue-eyed,  golden-bearded  man  hesitated,  then 
as  the  knocking  sounded  again,  imperative,  persistent, 
he  staggered  to  the  bed  with  his  burden,  laid  it  on  the 
pillows,  seized  his  crutches,  rested  on  them,  breathing 
heavily,  and  listening  to  the  loud  and  rapid  knocking 
outside  the  door. 

"We've  got  to  open,"  she  whispered.  "Don't  forget 
that  we  found  him  unconscious  in  the  corridor !"  And 
she  slid  the  bolt  noiselessly,  opened  the  stateroom  door, 
and  stepped  outside  the  curtain  into  the  corridor. 

The  cockney  steward  stood  there  with  a  messenger. 

"Wireless  for  Mr.  Neeland —  -"  he  began;  but  his 
speech  failed  and  his  jaw  fell  at  sight  of  the  nurse  in 
her  cap  and  uniform.  And  when,  on  his  crutches,  the 
bearded  man  emerged  from  behind  the  curtain,  the  stew 
ard's  eyes  fairly  protruded. 

"The  young  gentleman  is  ill,"  explained  the  nurse 
coolly.  "Mr.  Hawks  heard  him  fall  in  the  corridor  and 
came  out  on  his  crutches  to  see  what  had  happened.  I 
chanced  to  be  passing  through  the  main  corridor,  for 
tunately.  I  am  doing  what  I  can  for  the  young  gen 
tleman." 

"Ow/'  said  the  steward,  staring  over  her  shoulder 
at  the  bearded  man  on  crutches. 

"There  iss  no  need  of  calling  the  ship's  doctor,"  said 
the  man  on  crutches.  "This  young  woman  iss  a  hos 
pital  nurse  und  she  iss  so  polite  and  obliging  to  volun 
teer  her  service  for  the  poor  young  gentleman." 

"Yes,"  she  said  carelessly,  "I  can  remain  here  for 
an  hour  or  two  with  him.  He  requires  only  a  few  simple 
remedies — I've  already  given  him  a  sedative,  and  he  is 
sleeping  very  nicely." 

"Yess,  yess  ;  it  iss  not  grave.  Pooh !  It  is  netting. 
He  slip  and  knock  his  head.  Maybe  too  much  tcham- 

206 


BY  RADIO 


pagne.  He  sleep,  and  by  and  by  he  feel  better.  It  iss 
not  advisable  to  make  a  fuss.  So !  We  are  not  longer 
needed,  steward.  I  return  to  my  room." 

And,  nodding  pleasantly,  the  bearded  man  hobbled 
out  on  his  crutches  and  entered  his  own  stateroom 
across  the  passage. 

"Steward,"  said  the  nurse  pleasantly,  "you  may  leave 
the  wireless  telegram  with  me.  When  Mr.  Neeland 
wakes  I'll  read  it  to  him 

"Give  that  telegram  to  me!"  burst  out  a  ghostly 
voice  from  the  curtained  room  behind  her. 

Every  atom  of  colour  left  her  face,  and  she  stood 
there  as  though  stiffened  into  marble.  The  steward 
stared  at  her.  Still  staring,  he  passed  gingerly  in  front 
of  her  and  entered  the  curtained  room. 

Neeland  was  lying  on  his  bed  as  white  as  death; 
but  his  eyes  fluttered  open  in  a  dazed  way: 

"Steward,"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"My — box."     His  eyes  closed. 

"Box,  sir?" 

"Where—is—it?" 

"Which  box,  sir?  Is  it  this  one  here  on  the  floor?" — 
lifting  the  olive-wood  box  in  its  case.  The  key  was  in 
the  lock;  the  other  keys  hung  from  it,  dangling  on  a 
steel  ring. 

The  nurse  stepped  calmly  into  the  room. 

"Steward,"  she  said  in  her  low,  pleasant  voice,  "the 
sedative  I  gave  him  has  probably  confused  his  mind  a 
little " 

"Put  that  box — under — my  head,"  interrupted  Nee- 
land's  voice  like  a  groan. 

"I  tell  you,"  whispered  the  nurse,  "he  doesn't  know 
what  he  is  saying." 

207 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"I  got  to  obey  him,  ma'am " 

"I  forbid  you " 

"Steward!"  gasped  Neeland. 

"Sir?" 

"My  box.     I— want  it." 

"Certainly,  sir " 

"Here,  beside  my — pillow." 

"Yes,  sir."     He  laid  the  box  beside  the  sick  man. 

"Is  it  locked,  steward?" 

"Key  sticking  in  it,  sir.     Yes,  it's  locked,  sir." 

"Open." 

The  nurse,  calm,  pale,  tight-lipped,  stood  by  the  cur 
tain  looking  at  the  bed  over  which  the  steward  leaned, 
opening  the  box. 

"  'Ere  you  are,  sir,"  he  said,  lifting  the  cover.  "I 
say,  nurse,  give  'im  a  lift,  won't  you?" 

The  nurse  coolly  stepped  to  the  bedside,  stooped, 
raised  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  prostrate  man. 
After  a  moment  his  eyes  unclosed ;  he  looked  at  the  con 
tents  of  the  box  with  a  perceptible  effort. 

"Lock  it,  steward.  Place  it  beside  me.  .  .  .  Next 
the  wall.  .  .  .  So.  .  .  .  Place  the  keys  in  my  pocket. 
.  .  .  Thank  you.  ...  I  had  a — pistol." 

"Sir?" 

"A  pistol.     Where  is  it?" 

The  steward's  roving  glance  fell  finally  upon  the 
washbasin.  He  walked  over,  picked  up  the  automatic, 
and,  with  an  indescribable  glance  at  the  nurse,  laid  it 
across  Neeland's  upturned  palm. 

The  young  man's  fingers  fumbled  it,  closed  over  the 
handle ;  and  a  ghost  of  a  smile  touched  his  ashen  face. 

"Do  you  feel  better,  sir?" 

"I'm  tired.   *    .    .   Yes,  I  feel — better." 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mr.  Neeland?" 
208 


BY  EADIO 


"Stay  outside — my  door." 

"Do  you  wish  the  doctor,  sir?" 

"No.  ...  No!  ...  Don't  call  him;  do  you  hear?" 

"I  won't  call  him,  sir." 

"No,  don't  call  him." 

"No,  sir.  .  .  .  Mr.  Neeland,  there  is  a — a  trained 
nurse  here.  You  will  not  want  her,  will  you,  sir?" 

Again  the  shadow  of  a  smile  crept  over  Neeland's 
face. 

"Did  she  come  for — her  handkerchief?" 

There  was  a  silence ;  the  steward  looked  steadily  at 
the  nurse ;  the  nurse's  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  man 
lying  there  before  her. 

"You  shan't  be  wanting  her  any  more,  shall  you, 
sir?"  repeated  the  steward,  not  shifting  his  gaze. 

"Yes;  I  think  I  shall  want  her — for  a  little  while." 
...  Neeland  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  smiled  up  at  the 
motionless  nurse:  "How  are  you,  Scheherazade?"  he 
said  weakly.  And,  to  the  steward,  with  an  effort :  "Miss 
White  and  I  are — old  friends.  .  .  .  However — kindly 
remain  outside — my  door.  .  .  .  And  throw  what  re 
mains  of  my  dinner — out  of — the  port.  .  .  .  And  be 
ready — at  all  times — to  look  after  the — gentleman  on 
crutches.  .  .  .  I'm — fond  of  him.  .  .  .  Thank  you, 
steward." 

Long  after  the  steward  had  closed  the  stateroom 
door,  Use  Dumont  stood  beside  Neeland's  bed  without 
stirring.  Once  or  twice  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
at  her  humorously.  After  a  while  he  said : 

"Please  be  seated,  Scheherazade." 

She  calmly  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  his  couch. 

"Horrid  soup,"  he  murmured.  "You  should  attend 
a  cooking  school,  my  dear." 

209 


THE  DARK  STAR 


She  regarded  him  absently,  as  though  other  matters 
absorbed  her. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "as  a  cook  you're  a  failure, 
Scheherazade.  That  broth  which  you  seasoned  for  me 
has  done  funny  things  to  my  eyes,  too.  But  they're 
recovering.  I  see  much  better  already.  My  vision  is 
becoming  sufficiently  clear  to  observe  how  pretty  you 
are  in  your  nurse's  cap  and  apron." 

A  slow  colour  came  into  her  face  and  he  saw  her 
eyebrows  bend  inward  as  though  she  were  annoyed. 

"You  are  pretty,  Scheherazade,"  he  repeated.  "You 
know  you  are,  don't  you?  But  you're  a  poor  cook 
and  a  rotten  shot.  You  can't  be  perfection,  you  know. 
Cheer  up !" 

She  ignored  the  suggestion,  her  dark  eyes  brooding 
and  remote  again ;  and  he  lay  watching  her  with  placid 
interest  in  which  no  rancour  remained.  He  was  feel 
ing  decidedly  better  every  minute  now.  He  lifted  the 
automatic  pistol  and  shoved  it  under  his  pillow,  then 
cautiously  flexed  his  fingers,  his  arms,  and  finally  his 
knees,  with  increasing  pleasure  and  content. 

"Such  dreadful  soup,"  he  said.  "But  I'm  a  lot  bet 
ter,  thank  you.  Was  it  to  have  been  murder  this  time, 
too,  Scheherazade?  Would  the  entire  cupful  have  made 
a  pretty  angel  of  me?  Oh,  fie!  Naughty  Schehera 
zade  !" 

She  remained  mute. 

"Didn't  you  mean  manslaughter  with  intent  to  ex 
terminate?"  he  insisted,  watching  her. 

Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  her  blond  and  beard 
ed  companion,  and  the  open  port,  for  she  made  no 
reply. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  him  heave  me  out?"  inquired 
Neeland.  "Why  did  you  object?" 

210 


BY  RADIO 


At  that  she  reddened  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  under 
standing  that  what  she  feared  had  been  true — that 
Neeland,  while  physically  helpless,  had  retained  suf 
ficient  consciousness  to  be  aware  of  what  was  happening 
to  him  and  to  understand  at  least  a  part  of  the  con 
versation. 

"What  was  the  stuff  with  which  you  flavoured  that 
soup,  Scheherazade?" 

He  was  merely  baiting  her;  he  did  not  expect  any 
reply;  but,  to  his  surprise,  she  answered  him: 

"Threlanium — Speyer's  solution  is  what  I  used,"  she 
said  with  a  sort  of  listless  effrontery. 

"Don't  know  it.  Don't  like  it,  either.  Prefer  other 
condiments." 

He  lifted  himself  on  one  elbow,  remained  propped  so, 
tore  open  his  wireless  telegram,  and,  after  a  while, 
contrived  to  read  it: 

"JAMES   NEELAND, 

"S.  S.  Volhynia. 

"Spies  aboard.  Be  careful.  If  trouble  threatens  cap 
tain  has  instructions  British  Government  to  protect  you 
and  order  arrests  on  your  complaint. 

"NAiA." 

With  a  smile  that  was  almost  a  grin,  Neeland  handed 
the  telegram  to  Use  Dumont. 

"Scheherazade,"  he  said,  "you'll  be  a  good  little  girl, 
now,  won't  you  ?  Because  it  would  be  a  shocking  thing 
for  you  and  your  friend  across  the  way  to  land  in 
England  wearing  funny  bangles  on  your  wrists  and 
keeping  step  with  each  other,  wouldn't  it?" 

She  continued  to  hold  the  slip  of  paper  and  stare  at 
it  long  after  she  had  finished  reading  it  and  the  words 
became  a  series  of  parallel  blurs. 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Scheherazade,"  he  said  lightly,  "what  on  earth  am 
I  going  to  do  with  you?" 

"I  suppose  you  will  lodge  a  charge  with  the  captain 
against  me,"  she  replied  in  even  tones. 

"Why  not?  You  deserve  it,  don't  you?  You  and 
your  humorous  friend  with  the  yellow  beard?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  vague  smile. 

"What  can  you  prove?"  said  she. 

"Perfectly  true,  dear  child.  Nothing.  I  don't  want 
to  prove  anything,  either." 

She  smiled  incredulously. 

"It's  quite  true,  Scheherazade.  Otherwise,  I  shouldn't 
have  ordered  my  steward  to  throw  the  remains  of  my 
dinner  out  of  the  corridor  porthole.  No,  dear  child. 
I  should  have  had  it  analysed,  had  your  stateroom 
searched  for  more  of  that  elusive  seasoning  you  used 
to  flavour  my  dinner;  had  a  further  search  made  for 
a  certain  sort  of  handkerchief  and  perfume.  Also, 
just  imagine  the  delightful  evidence  which  a  thorough 
search  of  your  papers  might  reveal!"  He  laughed. 
"No,  Scheherazade;  I  did  not  care  to  prove  you  any 
thing  resembling  a  menace  to  society.  Because,  in  the 
first  place,  I  am  absurdly  grateful  to  you." 

Her  face  became  expressionless  under  the  slow  flush 
mounting. 

"I'm  not  teasing  you,"  he  insisted.  "What  I  say  is 
true.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  violently  injecting  ro 
mance  into  my  perfectly  commonplace  existence.  You 
have  taken  the  book  of  my  life  and  not  only  extra 
illustrated  it  with  vivid  and  chromatic  pictures,  but  you 
have  unbound  it,  sewed  into  its  prosaic  pages  several 
chapters  ripped  bodily  from  a  penny-dreadful,  and 
you  have  then  rebound  the  whole  thing  and  pasted  your 
own  pretty  picture  on  the  cover !  Come,  now !  Ought 


BY  RADIO 


not  a  man  to  be  grateful  to  any  philanthropic  girl  who 
so  gratuitously  obliges  him?" 

Her  face  burned  under  his  ridicule;  her  clasped 
hands  in  her  lap  were  twisted  tight  as  though  to  main 
tain  her  self-control. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  she  asked  between  lips 
that  scarcely  moved. 

He  laughed,  sat  up,  stretched  out  both  arms  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  The  colour  came  back  to  his 
face;  he  dropped  one  leg  over  the  bed's  edge;  and  she 
stood  erect  and  stepped  aside  for  him  to  rise. 

No  dizziness  remained ;  he  tried  both  feet  on  the  floor, 
straightened  himself,  cast  a  gaily  malicious  glance  at 
her,  and  slowly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Scheherazade,"  he  said,  "isn't  it  funny?  I  ask  you, 
did  you  ever  hear  of  a  would-be  murderess  and  her 
escaped  victim  being  on  such  cordial  terms?  Did  you?" 

He  was  going  through  a  few  calisthenics,  gingerly 
but  with  increasing  abandon,  while  he  spoke. 

"I  feel  fine,  thank  you.  I  am  enjoying  the  situation 
extremely,  too.  It's  a  delightful  paradox,  this  situa 
tion.  It's  absurd,  it's  enchanting,  it's  incredible! 
There  is  only  one  more  thing  that  could  make  it  per 
fectly  impossible.  And  I'm  going  to  do  it!"  And  he 
deliberately  encircled  her  waist  and  kissed  her. 

She  turned  white  at  that,  and,  as  he  released  her, 
laughing,  took  a  step  or  two  blindly,  toward  the  door; 
stood  there  with  one  hand  against  it  as  though  support 
ing  herself. 

After  a  few  moments,  and  very  slowly,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him ;  and  that  young  man  was  scared  for 
the  first  time  since  their  encounter  in  the  locked  house 
in  Brookhollow. 

Yet  in  her  face  there  was  no  anger,  no  menace,  noth- 
213 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ing  he  had  ever  before  seen  in  any  woman's  face,  noth 
ing  that  he  now  comprehended.  Only,  for  the  moment, 
it  seemed  to  him  that  something  terrible  was  gazing 
at  him  out  of  this  girl's  fixed  eyes — something  that 
he  did  not  recognise  as  part  of  her — another  being 
hidden  within  her,  staring  out  through  her  eyes  at 
him. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Scheherazade "  he  faltered. 

She  opened  the  door,  still  watching  him  over  her 
shoulder,  shrank  through  it,  and  was  gone. 

He  stood  for  a  full  five  minutes  as  though  stupefied, 
then  walked  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open.  And  met 
a  ship's  officer  face  to  face,  already  lifting  his  hand 
to  knock  for  admittance. 

"Mr.  Neeland?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Captain  West's  compliments,  and  he  would  be  glad 
to  see  you  in  his  cabin." 

"Thank  you.  My  compliments  and  thanks  to  Cap 
tain  West,  and  I  shall  call  on  him  immediately." 

They  exchanged  bows;  the  officer  turned,  hesitated, 
glanced  at  the  steward  who  stood  by  the  port. 

"Did  you  bring  a  radio  message  to  Mr.  Neeland?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Yes,  I  received  the  message,"  said  Neeland. 

"The  captain  requests  you  to  bring  the  message  with 
you." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Neeland. 

So  the  officer  went  away  down  the  corridor,  and 
Neeland  sat  down  on  his  bed,  opened  the  box,  went  over 
carefully  every  item  of  its  contents,  relocked  it  with 
a  grin  of  satisfaction,  and,  taking  it  with  him,  went 
off  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  captain  of  the  Volhynia. 

The  bearded  gentleman  in  the  stateroom  across  the 


KP> 

'There  is  only  one  more  thing  that  could 

make  it  perfectly  impossible.     And 

I'm  going  to  do  it!" 


BY  RADIO 


passage  had  been  listening  intently  to  the  conversation, 
with  his  ear  flat  against  his  keyhole. 

And  now,  without  hesitating,  he  went  to  a  satchel 
which  stood  on  the  sofa  in  his  stateroom,  opened  it, 
took  from  it  a  large  bundle  of  papers  and  a  ten-pound 
iron  scale-weight. 

Attaching  the  weight  to  the  papers  by  means  of  a 
heavy  strand  of  copper  wire,  he  mounted  the  sofa  and 
hurled  the  weighted  package  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

"Pig-dogs  of  British,"  he  muttered  in  his  golden 
beard,  "you  may  go  and  dive  for  them  when  The  Day 
dawns." 

Then  he  filled  and  lighted  a  handsome  porcelain  pipe, 
and  puffed  it  with  stolid  satisfaction,  leaving  the 
pepper-box  silver  cover  open. 

"Der  Tag"  he  muttered  in  his  golden  beard;  and  his 
clear  eyes  swept  the  starlit  ocean  with  the  pensive  and 
terrifying  scrutiny  of  a  waiting  eagle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  VOLHYNIA 

THE  captain  of  the  Volhynia  had  just  come  from  the 
bridge  and  was  taking  a  bite  of  late  supper  in  his  cabin 
when  the  orderly  announced  Neeland.  He  rose  at  once, 
offering  a  friendly  hand : 

"Mr.  Neeland,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  know 
you  by  name  and  reputation  already.  There  were  some 
excellent  pictures  by  you  in  the  latest  number  of  the 
Midweek  Magazine." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  liked  them,  Captain  West." 

"Yes,  I  did.  There  was  a  breeze  in  them — a  gaiety. 
And  such  a  fetching  girl  you  drew  for  your  heroine!" 

"You  think  so!  It's  rather  interesting.  I  met  a 
young  girl  once — she  comes  from  up-state  where  I 
come  from.  There  was  a  peculiar  and  rather  subtle 
attraction  about  her  face.  So  I  altered  the  features 
of  the  study  I  was  making  from  my  model,  and  put 
in  hers  as  I  remembered  them." 

"She  must  be  beautiful,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"It  hadn't  struck  me  so  until  I  drew  her  from  mem 
ory.  And  there's  more  to  the  story.  I  never  met  her 
but  twice  in  my  life — the  second  time  under  exceed 
ingly  dramatic  circumstances.  And  now  I'm  crossing 
the  Atlantic  at  a  day's  notice  to  oblige  her.  It's  an 
amusing  story,  isn't  it?" 

"Mr.  Neeland,  I  think  it  is  going  to  be  what  you 
call  a  'continued'  story." 

"No.  Oh,  no.  It  ought  to  be,  considering  its  ele- 
216 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  VOLHYNIA 

ments.     But  it  isn't.     There's  no  further  romance  in 
it,  Captain  West." 

The  captain's  smile  was  pleasant  but  sceptical. 

They  seated  themselves,  Neeland  declining  an  invita 
tion  to  supper,  and  the  captain  asking  his  indulgence 
if  he  talked  while  eating. 

"Mr.  Neeland,"  he  said,  "I'm  about  to  talk  rather 
frankly  with  you.  I  have  had  several  messages  by 
wireless  today  from  British  sources,  concerning  you." 

Neeland,  surprised,  said  nothing.  Captain  West  fin 
ished  his  bite  of  supper;  the  steward  removed  the  dishes 
and  went  out,  closing  the  door.  The  captain  glanced 
at  the  box  which  Neeland  had  set  on  the  floor  by  his 
chair. 

"May  I  ask,"  he  said,  "why  you  brought  your  suit 
case  with  you?" 

"It's  valuable." 

The  captain's  keen  eyes  were  on  his. 

"Why  are  you  followed  by  spies?"  he  asked. 

Neeland  reddened. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  captain  of  the  Volhynia,  "my 
Government  instructs  me,  by  wireless,  to  offer  you  any 
aid  and  protection  you  may  desire.  I  am  informed 
that  you  carry  papers  of  military  importance  to  a  cer 
tain  foreign  nation  with  which  neither  England  nor 
France  are  on  what  might  be  called  cordial  terms.  I 
am  told  it  is  likely  that  agents  of  this  foreign  country 
have  followed  you  aboard  my  ship  for  the  purpose  of 
robbing  you  of  these  papers.  Now,  Mr.  Neeland,  what 
do  you  know  about  this  business?" 

"Very  little,"  said  Neeland. 

"Have  you  had  any  trouble?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

The  captain  smiled: 

217 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Evidently  you  have  wriggled  out  of  it,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  wriggled  is  the  literal  word." 

"Then  you  do  not  think  that  you  require  any  protec 
tion  from  me?" 

"Perhaps  I  do.  I've  been  a  singularly  innocent  and 
lucky  ass.  It's  merely  chance  that  my  papers  have 
not  been  stolen,  even  before  I  started  in  quest  of  them." 

"Have  you  been  troubled  aboard  my  ship?" 

Neeland  waved  his  hand  carelessly : 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,  thank  you." 

"If  you  have  any  charge  to  make " 

"Oh,  no." 

The  captain  regarded  him  intently : 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  he  said.  "Since  we 
sailed,  have  you  noticed  the  bulletins  posted  contain 
ing  our  wireless  news?" 

"Yes,  I've  read  them." 

"Did  they  interest  you?" 

"Yes.  You  mean  that  row  between  Austria  and 
Servia  over  the  Archduke's  murder?" 

"I  mean  exactly  that,  Mr.  Neeland.  And  now  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  something  else.  Tonight  I  had  a 
radio  message  which  I  shall  not  post  on  the  bulletins 
for  various  reasons.  But  I  shall  tell  you  under  the  seal 
of  confidence." 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  said  Neeland 
quietly. 

"I  accept  it,  Mr.  Neeland.  And  this  is  what  has  hap 
pened  :  Austria  has  decided  on  an  ultimatum  to  Servia. 
And  probably  will  send  it." 

They  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  then  the  captain 
continued : 

"Why  should  we  deceive  ourselves?  This  is  the  most 
serious  thing  that  has  happened  since  the  Hohenzollern 

218 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  VOLHYNIA 

incident  which  brought  on  the  Franco-Prussian  War." 

Neeland  nodded. 

"You  see?"  insisted  the  captain.  "Suppose  the 
humiliation  is  too  severe  for  Servia  to  endure?  Sup 
pose  she  refuses  the  Austrian  terms?  Suppose  Austria 
mobilises  against  her?  What  remains  for  Russia  to 
do  except  to  mobilise?  And,  if  Russia  does  that,  what 
is  going  to  happen  in  Germany?  And  then,  instantly 
and  automatically,  what  will  follow  in  France?"  His 
mouth  tightened  grimly.  "England,"  he  said,  "is  the 
ally  of  France.  Ask  yourself,  Mr.  Neeland,  what  are 
the  prospects  of  this  deadly  combination  and  deadlier 
situation." 

After  a  few  moments  the  young  man  looked  up  from 
his  brown  study: 

"I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  question — perhaps  not  germane 
to  the  subject.  May  I?" 

"Ask  it." 

"Then,  of  what  interest  are  Turkish  forts  to  any  of 
the  various  allied  nations — to  the  Triple  Entente  or 
the  Triple  Alliance?" 

"Turkish  fortifications?" 

"Yes — plans  for  them." 

The  captain  glanced  instinctively  at  the  box  beside 
Neeland's  chair,  but  his  features  remained  incurious. 

"Turkey  is  supposed  to  be  the  ally  of  Germany," 
he  said. 

"I've  heard  so.  I  know  that  the  Turkish  army  is 
under  German  officers.  But — if  war  should  happen, 
is  it  likely  that  this  ramshackle  nation  which  was  fought 
to  a  standstill  by  the  Balkan  Alliance  only  a  few  months 
ago  would  be  likely  to  take  active  sides?" 

"Mr.  Neeland,  it  is  not  only  likely,  it  is  absolutely 
certain." 

219 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"You  believe  Germany  would  count  on  her?" 

"There  is  not  a  doubt  of  it.  Enver  Pasha  holds  the 
country  in  his  right  hand ;  Enver  Pasha  is  the  Kaiser's 
jackal." 

"But  Turkey  is  a  beaten,  discredited  nation.  She 
has  no  modern  guns.  Her  fleet  is  rusting  in  the  Bos 
porus." 

"The  Dardanelles  bristle  with  Krupp  cannon,  Mr. 
Neeland,  manned  by  German  gunners.  Von  der  Goltz 
Pasha  has  made  of  a  brave  people  a  splendid  army. 
As  for  ships,  the  ironclads  and  gunboats  off  Seraglio 
Point  are  rusting  at  anchor,  as  you  say ;  but  there  are 
today  enough  German  and  Austrian  armored  ships 
within  running  distance  of  the  Dardanelles  to  make 
for  Turkey  a  powerful  defensive  squadron.  Didn't  you 
know  any  of  these  facts?" 

"No." 

"Well,  they  are  facts.  .  .  .  You  see,  Mr.  Neeland, 
we  English  sailors  of  the  merchant  *  marine  are  also 
part  of  the  naval  reserve.  And  we  are  supposed  to 
know  these  things." 

Neeland  was  silent. 

"Mr.  Neeland,"  he  said,  "in  case  of  war  between  the 
various  powers  of  Europe  as  aligned  today,  where  do 
you  imagine  your  sympathy  would  lie — and  the  sym 
pathies  of  America?" 

"Both  with  France  and  England,"  said  Neeland 
bluntly. 

"You  think  so?" 

"Yes,  I  do — unless  they  are  the  aggressors." 

The  captain  nodded : 

"I  feel  rather  that  way  myself.  I  feel  very  sure  of 
the  friendliness  of  your  country.  Because  of  course  we 
— France  and  England — never  would  dream  of  attack- 

220 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  FOLHYNIA 

ing  the  Central  Powers  unless  first  assailed."  He 
smiled,  nodded  toward  the  box  on  the  floor:  "Don't 
you  think,  Mr.  Neeland,  that  it  might  be  safer  to  en 
trust  those — that  box,  I  mean — to  the  captain  of  the 
Royal  Mail  steamer,  Volhynia?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Neeland  quietly. 

"And — about  these  spies.  Do  you  happen  to  enter 
tain  any  particular  suspicions  concerning  any  of  the 
passengers  on  my  ship?"  urged  the  captain. 

"Indeed,  I  entertain  lively  suspicions,  and  even  a  few 
certainties,"  replied  the  young  fellow,  laughing. 

"You  appear  to  enjoy  the  affair?" 

"I  do.  I've  never  had  such  a  good  time.  I'm  not 
going  to  spoil  it  by  suggesting  that  you  lock  up  any 
body,  either." 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  that  way,"  said  the  captain 
seriously. 

"But  I  do.  They're  friends  of  mine.  They've  given 
me  the  time  of  my  life.  A  dirty  trick  I'd  be  serving 
myself  as  well  as  them  if  I  came  to  you  and  preferred 
charges  against  them!" 

The  captain  inspected  him  curiously  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  then,  in  a  soft  voice : 

"By  any  chance,  Mr.  Neeland,  have  you  any  Irish 
blood  in  your  veins?" 

"Yes,  thank  God !"  returned  the  young  fellow,  unable 
to  control  his  laughter.  "And  I'll  bet  there  isn't  a 
drop  in  you,  Captain  West." 

"Not  a  drop,  thank  G — I'm  sorry ! — I  ask  your  par 
don,  Mr.  Neeland !"  added  the  captain,  very  red  in  the 
face. 

But  Neeland  laughed  so  hard  that,  after  a  moment, 
the  red  died  out  in  the  captain's  face  and  a  faint  grin 
came  into  it. 


THE  DARK  STAR 


So  they  shook  hands  and  said  good  night;  and  Nee- 
land  went  away,  leaving  his  box  on  the  floor  of  the  cap 
tain's  cabin  as  certain  of  its  inviolability  as  he  was  of 
the  Bank  of  England. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 

THE  usual  signs  of  land  greeted  Neeland  when  he 
rose  early  next  morning  and  went  out  on  deck  for  the 
first  time  without  his  olive-wood  box — first  a  few  gulls, 
then  puffins,  terns,  and  other  sea  fowl  in  increasing 
numbers,  weed  floating,  fishing  smacks,  trawlers  tossing 
on  the  rougher  coast  waters. 

After  breakfast  he  noticed  two  British  torpedo  boat 
destroyers,  one  to  starboard,  the  other  on  the  port  bow, 
apparently  keeping  pace  with  the  Volhynia.  They 
were  still  there  at  noon,  subjects  of  speculation  among 
the  passengers;  and  at  tea-time  their  number  was  in 
creased  to  five,  the  three  new  destroyers  appearing 
suddenly  out  of  nowhere,  dead  ahead,  dashing  for 
ward  through  a  lively  sea  under  a  swirling  vortex  of 
gulls. 

The  curiosity  of  the  passengers,  always  easily 
aroused,  became  more  thoroughly  stirred  up  by  the  bul 
letins  posted  late  that  afternoon,  indicating  that  the 
tension  between  the  several  European  chancelleries  was 
becoming  acute,  and  that  emperors  and  kings  were  ex 
changing  personal  telegrams. 

There  was  all  sorts  of  talk  on  deck  and  at  the  dinner 
table,  wild  talk,  speculative  talk,  imaginative  discus 
sions,  logical  and  illogical.  But,  boiled  down  to  its 
basic  ingredients,  the  wildest  imagination  on  board 
the  Volhynia  admitted  war  to  be  an  impossibility  of 
modern  times,  and  that,  ultimately,  diplomacy  would 

228 


THE  DARK  STAR 


settle  what  certainly  appeared  to  be  the  ugliest  inter 
national  situation  in  a  hundred  years. 

At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  Neeland  believed  this,  too; 
wished  for  it  when  his  higher  and  more  educated  spirit 
ual  self  was  flatly  interrogated ;  and  yet,  in  the  every 
day,  impulsive  ego  of  James  Neeland,  the  drop  of  Irish 
had  begun  to  sing  and  seethe  with  the  atavistic  instinct 
for  a  row. 

War?  He  didn't  know  what  it  meant,  of  course.  It 
made  good  poetry  and  interesting  fiction;  it  rendered 
history  amusing;  made  dry  facts  succulent. 

Preparations  for  war  in  Europe,  which  had  been 
going  on  for  iifty  years,  were  most  valuable,  too,  in 
contributing  the  brilliant  hues  of  uniforms  to  an  other 
wise  sombre  civilian  world,  and  investing  commonplace 
and  sober  cities  with  the  omnipresent  looming  mys 
tery  of  fortifications. 

To  a  painter,  war  seemed  to  be  a  dramatic  and  gor 
geous  affair ;  to  a  young  man  it  appealed  as  all  excite 
ment  appeals.  The  sportsman  in  him  desired  to  witness 
a  scrap;  his  artist's  imagination  was  aroused;  the 
gambler  in  him  speculated  as  to  the  outcome  of  such 
a  war.  And  the  seething,  surging  drop  of  Irish  fizzed 
and  purred  and  coaxed  for  a  chance  to  edge  sideways 
into  any  fight  which  God  in  His  mercy  might  provide 
for  a  decent  gossoon  who  had  never  yet  had  the  pleasure 
of  a  broken  head. 

"Not,"  thought  Neeland  to  himself,  "that  I'll  go 
trailing  my  coat  tails.  I'll  go  about  my  own  business, 
of  course — but  somebody  may  hit  me  a  crack  at 
that!" 

He  thought  of  Use  Dumont  and  of  the  man  with 
the  golden  beard,  realising  that  he  had  had  a  wonderful 
time,  after  all;  sorry  in  his  heart  that  it  was  all  over 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


and  that  the  Volhyrda  was  due  to  let  go  her  mudhooks 
in  the  Mersey  about  three  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

As  he  leaned  on  the  deck  rail  in  the  soft  July  dark 
ness,  he  could  see  the  lights  of  the  destroyers  to  port 
and  starboard,  see  strings  of  jewel-like  signals  flash, 
twinkle,  fade,  and  flash  again. 

All  around  him  along  the  deck  passengers  were 
promenading,  girls  in  evening  gowns  or  in  summer 
white ;  men  in  evening  dress  or  reefed  in  blue  as  nau- 
tically  as  possible ;  old  ladies  toddling,  swathed  in  veils, 
old  gentlemen  in  dinner  coats  and  sporting  headgear — 
every  weird  or  conventional  combination  infested  the 
decks  of  the  Volhyma. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  during  the  voyage,  Neeland 
felt  free  to  lounge  about  where  he  listed,  saunter  wher 
ever  the  whim  of  the  moment  directed  his  casual  steps. 
The  safety  of  the  olive-wood  box  was  no  longer  on  his 
mind,  the  handle  no  longer  in  his  physical  clutch.  He 
was  at  liberty  to  stroll  as  carelessly  as  any  boulevard 
flaneur;  and  he  did  so,  scanning  the  passing  throng  for 
a  glimpse  of  Use  Dumont  or  of  the  golden-bearded  one, 
but  not  seeing  either  of  them. 

In  fact,  he  had  not  laid  eyes  on  them  since  he  had 
supped  not  wisely  but  too  well  on  the  soup  that  Sche 
herazade  had  flavoured  for  him. 

The  stateroom  door  of  the  golden-bearded  man  had 
remained  closed.  His  own  little  cockney  steward,  who 
also  looked  out  for  Golden  Beard,  reported  that  gen 
tleman  as  requiring  five  meals  a  day,  with  beer  in 
proportion,  and  the  porcelain  pipe  steaming  like  JEtna 
all  day  long. 

His  little  West  Indian  stewardess  also  reported  the 
gossip  from  her  friend  on  another  corridor,  which  was, 
in  effect,  that  Miss  White,  the  trained  nurse,  took  all 


THE  DARK  STAR 


meals  in  her  room  and  had  not  been  observed  to  leave 
that  somewhat  monotonous  sanctuary. 

How  many  more  of  the  band  there  might  be  Neeland 
did  not  know.  He  remembered  vaguely,  while  lying 
rigid  under  the  grip  of  the  drug,  that  he  had  heard  Use 
Dumont's  voice  mention  somebody  called  Karl.  And 
he  had  an  idea  that  this  Karl  might  easily  be  the  big, 
ham-fisted  German  who  had  tried  so  earnestly  to  stifle 
him  and  throw  him  from  the  vestibule  of  the  midnight 
express. 

However,  it  did  not  matter  now.  The  box  was  safe 
in  the  captain's  care;  the  Volhynia  would  be  lying  at 
anchor  off  Liverpool  before  daylight ;  the  whole  excit 
ing  and  romantic  business  was  ended. 

With  an  unconscious  sigh,  not  entirely  of  relief, 
Neeland  opened  his  cigarette  case,  found  it  empty, 
turned  and  went  slowly  below  with  the  idea  of  refill 
ing  it. 

They  were  dancing  somewhere  on  deck;  the  music 
of  the  ship's  orchestra  came  to  his  ears.  He  paused 
a  moment  on  the  next  deck  to  lean  on  the  rail  in  the 
darkness  and  listen. 

Far  beneath  him,  through  a  sea  as  black  as  onyx, 
swept  the  reflections  of  the  lighted  ports ;  and  he  could 
hear  the  faint  hiss  of  foam  from  the  curling  flow 
below. 

As  he  turned  to  resume  his  quest  for  cigarettes,  he 
was  startled  to  see  directly  in  front  of  him  the  heavy 
figure  of  a  man — so  close  to  him,  in  fact,  that  Neeland 
instinctively  threw  up  his  arm,  elbow  out,  to  avoid 
contact. 

But  the  man,  halting,  merely  lifted  his  hat,  saying 
that  in  the  dim  light  he  had  mistaken  Neeland  for  a 
friend;  and  they  passed  each  other  on  the  almost  de- 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


serted  deck,  saluting  formally  in  the  European  fashion, 
with  lifted  hats. 

His  spirits  a  trifle  subdued,  but  still  tingling  with 
the  shock  of  discovering  a  stranger  so  close  behind  him 
where  he  had  stood  leaning  over  the  ship's  rail,  Neeland 
continued  on  his  way  belowr. 

Probably  the  big  man  had  made  a  mistake  in  good 
faith ;  but  the  man  certainly  had  approached  very 
silently ;  was  almost  at  his  very  elbow  when  discovered. 
And  Neeland  remembered  the  light-shot  depths  over 
which,  at  that  moment,  he  had  been  leaning;  and 
he  realised  that  it  would  have  been  very  easy  for  a 
man  as  big  as  that  to  have  flung  him  overboard 
before  he  had  wit  to  realise  what  had  been  done  to 
him. 

Neither  could  he  forget  the  curious  gleam  in  the 
stranger's  eyes  when  a  ray  from  a  deck  light  fell  across 
his  shadowy  face — unusually  small  eyes  set  a  little  too 
close  together  to  inspire  confidence.  Nor  had  the  man's 
slight  accent  escaped  him — not  a  Teutonic  accent,  he 
thought,  but  something  fuller  and  softer — something 
that  originated  east  of  Scutari,  suggesting  the  Eu 
rasian,  perhaps. 

But  Neeland's  soberness  was  of  volatile  quality;  be 
fore  he  arrived  at  his  stateroom  he  had  recovered  his 
gaiety  of  spirit.  He  glanced  ironically  at  the  closed 
door  of  Golden  Beard  as  he  fitted  his  key  into  his  own 
door. 

"A  lively  lot,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "what  with 
Scheherazade,  Golden  Beard,  and  now  Ali  Baba — by 
jinx! — he  certainly  did  have  an  Oriental  voice! — and 
he  looked  the  part,  too,  with  a  beak  for  a  nose  and  a 
black  moustache  a  la  Enver  Pasha !" 

Much  diverted  by  his  own  waxing  imagination,  he 
227 


THE  DARK  STAR 


turned  on  the  light  in  his  stateroom,  filled  the  cigarette 
case,  turned  to  go  out,  and  saw  on  the  carpet  just  in 
side  his  door  a  bit  of  white  paper  folded  cocked-hat 
fashion  and  addressed  to  him. 

Picking  it  up  and  unfolding  it,  he  read: 

May  I  see  you  this  evening  at  eleven?  My  stateroom 
is  623.  If  there  is  anybody  in  the  corridor,  knock;  if 
not,  come  in  without  knocking. 

I  mean  no  harm  to  you.  I  give  my  word  of  honour. 
Please  accept  it  for  as  much  as  your  personal  courage 
makes  it  worth  to  you — its  face  value,  or  nothing. 

Knowing  you,  I  may  say  without  flattery  that  I  ex 
pect  you.  If  I  am  disappointed,  I  still  must  bear  witness 
to  your  courage  and  to  a  generosity  not  characteristic  of 
your  sex. 

You  have  had  both  power  and  provocation  to  make  my 
voyage  on  this  ship  embarrassing.  You  have  not  done 
so.  And  self-restraint  in  a  man  is  a  very  deadly  weapon 
to  use  on  a  woman. 

I  hope  you  will  come.  I  desire  to  be  generous  on  my 
part.  Ask  yourself  whether  you  are  able  to  believe  this. 
You  don't  know  women,  Mr.  Neeland.  Your  conclusion 
probably  will  be  a  wrong  one. 

But  I  think  you'll  come,  all  the  same.  And  you  will  be 
right  in  coming,  whatever  you  believe. 

ILSE  DUMONT. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  he  would  go.  He 
knew  it  before  he  had  read  half  the  note.  And  when  he 
finished  it  he  was  certain. 

Amused,  his  curiosity  excited,  grateful  that  the  ad 
venture  had  not  yet  entirely  ended,  he  lighted  a  cig 
arette  and  looked  impatiently  at  his  watch. 

It  lacked  half  an  hour  of  the  appointed  time  and  his 
exhilaration  was  steadily  increasing. 

He  stuck  the  note  into  the  frame  of  his  mirror  over 
the  washstand  with  a  vague  idea  that  if  anything  hap- 

228 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


pened  to  him  this  would  furnish  a  clue  to  his  where 
abouts. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  steward,  but,  although  he 
had  no  reason  to  believe  the  girl  who  had  written  him, 
something  within  him  made  him  ashamed  to  notify  the 
steward  as  to  where  he  was  going.  He  ought  to  have 
done  it ;  common  prudence  born  of  experience  with  Use 
Dumont  suggested  it.  And  yet  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  it ;  and  exactly  why,  he  did  not  under 
stand. 

One  thing,  however,  he  could  do;  and  he  did.  He 
wrote  a  note  to  Captain  West  giving  the  Paris  address 
of  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  and  asked  that  the  olive- 
wood  box  be  delivered  to  her  in  case  any  accident  befell 
him.  This  note  he  dropped  into  the  mailbox  at  the  end 
of  the  main  corridor  as  he  went  out.  A  few  minutes 
later  he  stood  in  an  empty  passageway  outside  a  door 
numbered  623.  He  had  a  loaded  automatic  in  his  breast 
pocket,  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers,  and,  on  his 
agreeable  features,  a  smile  of  anticipation — a  smile  in 
which  amusement,  incredulity,  reckless  humour,  and  a 
spice  of  malice  were  blended — the  smile  born  of  the  drop 
of  Irish  sparkling  like  champagne  in  his  singing  veins. 

And  he  turned  the  knob  of  door  No.  623  and  went  in. 

She  was  reading,  curled  up  on  her  sofa  under  the 
electric  bulb,  a  cigarette  in  one  hand,  a  box  of  bonbons 
beside  her. 

She  looked  up  leisurely  as  he  entered,  gave  him  a 
friendly  nod,  and,  when  he  held  out  his  hand,  placed 
her  own  in  it.  With  delighted  gravity  he  bent  and 
saluted  her  finger  tips  with  lips  that  twitched  to  control 
a  smile. 

"Will  you  be  seated,  please?"  she  said  gently. 

The  softness  of  her  agreeable  voice  struck  him  as 
229 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  looked  around  for  a  seat,  then  directly  at  her;  and 
saw  that  she  meant  him  to  find  a  seat  on  the  lounge 
beside  her. 

"Now,  indeed  you  are  Scheherazade  of  the  Thou 
sand  and  One  Nights,"  he  said  gaily,  "with  your  cig 
arette  and  your  bonbons,  and  cross-legged  on  your 
divan " 

"Did  Scheherazade  smoke  cigarettes,  Mr.  Neeland?" 

"No,"  he  admitted;  "that  is  an  anachronism,  I  sup 
pose.  Tell  me,  how  are  you,  dear  lady?" 

"Thank  you,  quite  well." 

"And — busy?"  His  lips  struggled  again  to  maintain 
their  gravity. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  busy." 

"Cooking  something  up? — I  mean  soup,  of  course," 
he  added. 

She  forced  a  smile,  but  reddened  as  though  it  were 
difficult  for  her  to  accustom  herself  to  his  half  jesting 
sarcasms. 

"So  you've  been  busy,"  he  resumed  tormentingly, 
"but  not  with  cooking  lessons!  Perhaps  you've  been 
practising  with  your  pretty  little  pistol.  You  know 
you  really  need  a  bit  of  small  arms  practice,  Schehera 
zade." 

"Because  I  once  missed  you?"  she  inquired  serenely. 

"Why  so  you  did,  didn't  you?"  he  exclaimed,  de 
lighted  to  goad  her  into  replying. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  missed  you.  I  needn't  have.  I 
am  really  a  dead  shot,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"Oh,  Scheherazade!"  he  protested. 

She   shrugged: 

"I  am  not  bragging ;  I  could  have  killed  you.  I  sup 
posed  it  was  necessary  only  to  frighten  you.  It  was 
my  mistake  and  a  bad  one." 

230 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


"My  dear  child,"  he  expostulated,  "you  meant  mur 
der  and  you  know  it.  Do  you  suppose  I  believe  that 
you  know  how  to  shoot?" 

"But  I  do,  Mr.  Neeland,"  she  returned  with  good- 
humoured  indifference.  "My  father  was  head  jager  to 
Count  Geier  von  Sturmspitz,  and  I  was  already  a  dead 
shot  with  a  rifle  when  we  emigrated  to  Canada.  And 
when  he  became  an  Athabasca  trader,  and  I  was  only 
twelve  years  old,  I  could  set  a  moose-hide  shoe-lace 
swinging  and  cut  it  in  two  with  a  revolver  at  thirty 
yards.  And  I  can  drive  a  shingle  nail  at  that  distance 
and  drive  the  bullet  that  drove  it,  and  the  next  and 
the  next,  until  my  revolver  is  empty.  You  don't  be 
lieve  me,  do  you?" 

"You  know  that  the  beautiful  Scheherazade " 

"Was  famous  for  her  fantastic  stories  ?  Yes,  I  know 
that,  Mr.  Neeland.  Pm  sorry  you  don't  believe  I  fired 
only  to  frighten  you." 

"I'm  sorry  I  don't,"  he  admitted,  laughing,  "but 
I'll  practise  trying,  and  maybe  I  shall  attain  perfect 
credulity  some  day.  Tell  me,"  he  added,  "what  have 
you  been  doing  to  amuse  yourself?" 

"I've  been  amusing  myself  by  wondering  whether  you 
would  come  here  to  see  me  tonight." 

"But  your  note  said  you  were  sure  I'd  come." 

"You  have  come,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  Scheherazade,  I'm  here  at  your  bidding,  spirit 
and  flesh.  But  I  forgot  to  bring  one  thing." 

"What?" 

"The  box  which — you  have  promised   yourself." 

"Yes,  the  captain  has  it,  I  believe,"  she  returned 
serenely. 

"Oh>  Lord !  Have  you  even  found  out  that?  I  don't 
know  whether  I'm  much  flattered  by  this  surveillance 

231 


THE  DARK  STAR 


you  and  your  friends  maintain  over  me.  I  suppose  you 
even  know  what  I  had  for  dinner.  Do  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Come,  I'll  call  that  bluff,  dear  lady !  What  did  I 
have?" 

When  she  told  him,  carelessly,  and  without  humour, 
mentioning  accurately  every  detail  of  his  dinner,  he 
lost  his  gaiety  of  countenance  a  little. 

"Oh,  I  say,  you  know,"  he  protested,  "that's  going 
it  a  trifle  too  strong.  Now,  why  the  devil  should  your 
people  keep  tabs  on  me  to  that  extent?" 

She  looked  up  directly  into  his  eyes: 

"Mr.  Neeland,  I  want  to  tell  you  why.  I  asked  you 
here  so  that  I  may  tell  you.  The  people  associated  with 
me  are  absolutely  pledged  that  neither  the  French 
nor  the  British  Government  shall  have  access  to  the 
contents  of  your  box.  That  is  why  nothing  that 
you  do  escapes  our  scrutiny.  We  are  determined  to 
have  the  papers  in  that  box,  and  we  shall  have 
them." 

"You  have  come  to  that  determination  too  late,"  he 
began;  but  she  stopped  him  with  a  slight  gesture  of 
protest: 

"Please  don't  interrupt  me,  Mr.  Neeland." 

"I  won't ;  go  on,  dear  lady !" 

"Then,  I'm  trying  to  tell  you  all  I  may.  I  am  trying 
to  tell  you  enough  of  the  truth  to  make  you  reflect 
very  seriously. 

"This  is  no  ordinary  private  matter,  no  vulgar  at 
tempt  at  robbery  and  crime  as  you  think — or  pretend 
to  think — for  you  are  very  intelligent,  Mr.  Neeland, 
and  you  know  that  the  contrary  is  true. 

"This  affair  concerns  the  secret  police,  the  embassies, 
the  chancelleries,  the  rulers  themselves  of  nations  long 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


since  grouped  into  two  formidable  alliances  radically 
hostile  to  one  another. 

"I  don't  think  you  have  understood — perhaps  even 
yet  you  do  not  understand  why  the  papers  you  carry 
are  so  important  to  certain  governments — why  it  is 
impossible  that  you  be  permitted  to  deliver  them  to 
the  Princess  Mistchenka " 

"Where  did  you  ever  hear  of  her!"  he  demanded  in 
astonishment. 

The  girl  smiled: 

"Dear  Mr.  Neeland,  I  know  the  Princess  Mistchenka 
better,  perhaps,  than  you  do." 

"Do  you?" 

"Indeed  I  do.  What  do  you  know  about  her?  Noth 
ing  at  all  except  that  she  is  handsome,  attractive,  culti 
vated,  amusing,  and  apparently  wealthy. 

"You  know  her  as  a  traveller,  a  patroness  of  music 
and  the  fine  arts — as  a  devotee  of  literature,  as  a  grace 
ful  hostess,  and  an  amiable  friend  who  gives  promising 
young  artists  letters  of  introduction  to  publishers  who 
are  in  a  position  to  offer  them  employment." 

That  this  girl  should  know  so  much  about  the  Prin 
cess  Mistchenka  and  about  his  own  relations  with  her 
amazed  Neeland.  He  did  not  pretend  to  account  for 
it ;  he  did  not  try ;  he  sat  silent,  serious,  and  surprised, 
looking  into  the  pretty  and  almost  smiling  face  of  a 
girl  who  apparently  had  been  responsible  for  three 
separate  attempts  to  kill  him — perhaps  even  a  fourth 
attempt ;  and  who  now  sat  beside  him  talking  in  a  soft 
and  agreeable  voice  about  matters  concerning  which 
he  had  never  dreamed  she  had  heard. 

For  a  few  moments  she  sat  silent,  observing  in  his 
changing  expression  the  effects  of  what  she  had  said 
to  him.  Then,  with  a  smile : 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Ask  me  whatever  questions  you  desire  to  ask,  Mr. 
Neeland.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  answer  them." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  bluntly ;  "how  do  you  happen  to 
know  so  much  about  me?" 

"I  know  something  about  the  friends  of  the  Princess 
Mistchenka.  I  have  to." 

"Did  you  know  who  I  was  there  in  the  house  at 
Brookhollow?" 

"No." 

"When,  then?" 

"When  you  yourself  told  me  your  name,  I  recog 
nised  it." 

"I  surprised  you  by  interrupting  you  in  Brookhol- 
low?" 

"Yes." 

"You  expected  no  interruption?" 

"None." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  go  there?  Where  did  you 
ever  hear  of  the  olive-wood  box?" 

"I  had  advices  by  cable  from  abroad — directions 
to  go  to  Brookhollow  and  secure  the  box." 

"Then  somebody  must  be  watching  the  Princess  Mis 
tchenka." 

"Of  course,"  she  said  simply. 

"Why  'of  course'?" 

"Mr.  Neeland,  the  Princess  Mistchenka  and  her 
youthful  protegee,  Miss  Carew " 

"What!!!" 

The  girl  smiled  wearily: 

"Really,"  she  said,  "you  are  such  a  boy  to  be  mixed 
in  with  matters  of  this  colour.  I  think  that's  the  reason 
you  have  defeated  us — the  trained  fencer  dreads  a  left- 
handed  novice  more  than  any  classic  master  of  the 
foils. 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


"And  that  is  what  you  have  done  to  us — blundered — 
if  you'll  forgive  me — into  momentary  victory. 

"But  such  victories  are  only  momentary,  Mr.  Nee- 
land.  Please  believe  it.  Please  try  to  understand,  too, 
that  this  is  no  battle  with  masks  and  plastrons  and 
nicely  padded  buttons.  No ;  it  is  no  comedy,  but  a 
grave  and  serious  affair  that  must  inevitably  end  in 
tragedy — for  somebody." 

"For  me?"  he  asked  without  smiling. 

She  turned  on  him  abruptly  and  laid  one  hand  lightly 
on  his  arm  with  a  pretty  gesture,  at  once  warning, 
appealing,  and  protective. 

"I  asked  you  to  come  here,"  she  said,  "because — 
because  I  want  you  to  escape  the  tragedy." 

"You  want  me  to  escape?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I — am  sorry  for  you." 

He  said  nothing. 

"And— I  like  you,  Mr.  Neeland." 

The  avowal  in  the  soft,  prettily  modulated  voice,  lost 
none  of  its  charm  and  surprise  because  the  voice  was  a 
trifle  tremulous,  and  the  girl's  face  was  tinted  with  a 
delicate  colour. 

"I  like  to  believe  what  you  say,  Scheherazade,"  he 
said  pleasantly.  "Somehow  or  other  I  never  did  think 
you  hated  me  personally — except  once " 

She  flushed,  and  he  was  silent,  remembering  her  hu 
miliation  in  the  Brookhollow  house. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  in  a  colder  tone,  "why  I 
should  feel  at  all  friendly  toward  you,  Mr.  Neeland, 
except  that  you  are  personally  courageous,  and  you 
have  shown  yourself  generous  under  a  severe  temptation 
to  be  otherwise. 

235 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"As   for — any  personal  humiliation — inflicted  upon 

me "     She  looked  down  thoughtfully  and  pretended 

to  sort  out  a  bonbon  to  her  taste,  while  the  hot  colour 
cooled  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "I've  also  jeered  at  you,  jested, 
nagged  you,  taunted  you,  kiss He  checked  him 
self  and  he  smiled  and  ostentatiously  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Well,"  he  said,  blowing  a  cloud  of  aromatic  smoke 
toward  the  ceiling,  "I  believe  that  this  is  as  strange  a 
week  as  any  man  ever  lived.  It's  like  a  story  book — 
like  one  of  your  wonderful  stories,  Scheherazade.  It 
doesn't  seem  real,  now  that  it  is  ended " 

"It  is  not  ended,'9  she  interrupted  in  a  low  voice. 

He  smiled. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "there's  no  use  trying  to 
frighten  such  an  idiot  as  I  am." 

She  lifted  her  troubled  eyes : 

"That  is  what  frightens  me,'9  she  said.  "I  am  afraid 
you  don't  know  enough  to  be  afraid." 

He  laughed. 

"But  I  want  you  to  be  afraid.  A  really  brave  man 
knows  what  fear  is.  I  want  you  to  know." 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Scheherazade?" 

"Keep  away  from  that  box." 

"I  can't  do   that." 

"Yes,  you  can.  You  can  leave  it  in  charge  of  the 
captain  of  this  ship  and  let  him  see  that  an  attempt 
is  made  to  deliver  it  to  the  Princess  Mistchenka." 

She  was  in  deadly  earnest;  he  saw  that.  And,  in 
spite  of  himself,  a  slight  thrill  that  was  almost  a  chill 
passed  over  him,  checked  instantly  by  the  hot  wave 
of  sheer  exhilaration  at  the  hint  of  actual  danger. 

"Oho!"  he  said  gaily.  "Then  you  and  your  friends 
are  not  yet  finished  with  me?" 

236 


r 


i 


"Karl!"  exclaimed  Use  Dumont. 


THE  DROP  OF  IRISH 


"Yes,  if  you  will  consider  your  mission  accom 
plished." 

"And  leave  the  rest  to  the  captain  of  the  Volhynia?" 

"Yes." 

"Scheherazade,"  he  said,  "did  you  suppose  me  to  be 
a  coward?" 

"No.  You  have  done  all  that  you  can.  A  reserve 
officer  of  the  British  Navy  has  the  box  in  his  charge. 
Let  him,  protected  by  his  Government,  send  it  toward 
its  destination." 

In  her  even  voice  the  implied  menace  was  the  more 
sinister  for  her  calmness. 

He  looked  at  her,  perplexed,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  ask  you,"  she  went  on,  "to  keep  out  of  this  af 
fair — to  disassociate  yourself  from  it.  I  ask  it  be 
cause  you  have  been  considerate  and  brave,  and  because 
I  do  not  wish  you  harm." 

He  turned  toward  her,  leaning  a  little  forward  on  the 
lounge : 

"No  use,"  he  said,  smiling.  "I'm  in  it  until  it 
ends " 

"Let  it  end  then!"  said  a  soft,  thick  voice  directly 
behind  him.  And  Neeland  turned  and  found  the  man 
he  had  seen  on  deck  standing  beside  him.  One  of  his 
fat  white  hands  held  an  automatic  pistol,  covering  him ; 
the  other  was  carefully  closing  the  door  which  he  had 
noiselessly  opened  to  admit  him. 

"Karl!"  exclaimed  Use  Dumont. 

"It  is  safaire  that  you  do  not  stir,  either,  to  inter 
fere,"  he  said,  squinting  for  a  second  at  her  out  of  his 
eyes  set  too  near  together. 

"Karl!"  she  cried.  "I  asked  him  to  come  in  order 
to  persuade  him!  I  gave  him  my  word  of  honour!" 

"Did  you  do  so?  Then  all  the  bettaire.  I  think  we 
237 


THE  DARK  STAR 


shall  persuade  him.  Do  not  venture  to  move,  young 
man ;  I  shoot  veree  willingly." 

And  Neeland,  looking  at  him  along  the  blunt  barrel 
of  the  automatic  pistol,  was  inclined  to  believe  him. 

His  sensations  were  not  agreeable;  he  managed  to 
maintain  a  calm  exterior;  choke  back  the  hot  chagrin 
that  reddened  his  face  to  the  temples ;  and  cast  a  half 
humorous,  half  contemptuous  glance  at  Use  Dumont. 

"You  prove  true,  don't  you?"  he  said  coolly. 
" — True  to  your  trade  of  story-telling,  Scheherazade !" 

"I  knew — nothing — of  this !"  she  stammered. 

But  Neeland  only  laughed  disagreeably. 

Then  the  door  opened  again  softly,  and  Golden  Beard 
came  in  without  his  crutches. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

METHOD  AND  FORESIGHT 

WITHOUT  a  word — with  merely  a  careless  glance  at 
Neeland,  who  remained  seated  under  the  level  threat  of 
Ali  Baba's  pistol,  the  big,  handsome  German  removed 
his  overcoat.  Under  it  was  another  coat.  He  threw 
this  off  in  a  brisk,  businesslike  manner,  unbuckled  a 
brace  of  pistols,  laid  them  aside,  unwound  from  his 
body  a  long  silk  rope  ladder  which  dropped  to  the  floor 
at  Use  Dumont's  feet. 

The  girl  had  turned  very  pale.  She  stooped,  picked 
up  the  silk  ladder,  and,  holding  it  in  both  hands,  looked 
hard  at  Golden  Beard. 

"Johann,"  she  said,  "I  gave  my  word  of  honour  to 
this  young  man  that  if  he  came  here  no  harm  would 
happen  to  him." 

"I  read  the  note  you  have  shoved  under  his  door," 
said  Golden  Beard.  "That  iss  why  we  are  here,  Karl 
and  I." 

Xeeland  remembered  the  wax  in  the  keyhole  then.  He 
turned  his  eyes  on  Use  Dumont,  curiously,  less  certain 
of  her  treachery  now. 

Meanwhile,  Golden  Beard  continued  busily  unwind 
ing  things  from  his  apparently  too  stout  person,  and 
presently  disengaged  three  life-belts. 

One  of  these  he  adjusted  to  his  own  person,  then,  put 
ting  on  his  voluminous  overcoat,  took  the  pistol  from 
Ali  Baba,  who,  in  turn,  adjusted  one  of  the  remaining 
life-belts  to  his  body. 

239 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Neeland,  deeply  perplexed  and  uncomfortable, 
watched  these  operations  in  silence,  trying  to  divine 
some  reason  for  them. 

"Now,  then !"  said  Golden  Beard  to  the  girl ;  and 
his  voice  sounded  cold  and  incisive  in  the  silence. 

"This  is  not  the  way  to  do  it,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.  "I  gave  him  my  word  of  honour." 

"You  will  be  good  enough  to  buckle  on  that  belt," 
returned  Golden  Beard,  staring  at  her. 

Slowly  she  bent  over,  picked  up  the  life-belt,  and, 
looping  the  silk  rope  over  her  arm,  began  to  put  on 
the  belt.  Golden  Beard,  impatient,  presently  came  to 
her  assistance;  then  he  unhooked  from  the  wall  a  cloak 
and  threw  it  over  her  shoulders. 

"Now,  Karl !"  he  said.  "Shoot  him  dead  if  he  stirs !" 
And  he  snatched  a  sheet  from  the  bed,  tore  it  into 
strips,  walked  over  to  Neeland,  and  deftly  tied  him  hand 
and  foot  and  gagged  him. 

Then  Golden  Beard  and  Ali  Baba,  between  them, 
lifted  the  young  man  and  seated  him  on  the  iron  bed 
and  tied  him  fast  to  it. 

"Go  out  on  deck !"  said  Golden  Beard  to  Use  Dumont. 

"Let  me  stay " 

"No!  You  have  acted  like  a  fool.  Go  to  the  lower 
deck  where  is  our  accustomed  rendezvous." 

"I  wish  to  remain,  Johann.  I  shall  not  interfere 

"Go  to  the  lower  deck,  I  tell  you,  and  be  ready  to 
tie  that  rope  ladder!" 

Ali  Baba,  down  on  his  knees,  had  pulled  out  a  steamer 
trunk  from  under  the  bed,  opened  it,  and  was  lifting  out 
three  big  steel  cylinders. 

These  he  laid  on  the  bed  in  a  row  beside  the  tied 
man;  and  Golden  Beard,  still  facing  Use  Dumont, 
turned  his  head  to  look. 

240 


METHOD  AND  FORESIGHT 

The  instant  his  head  was  turned  the  girl  snatched 
a  pistol  from  the  brace  of  weapons  on  the  washstand 
and  thrust  it  under  her  cloak.  Neither  Golden  Beard 
nor  Ali  Baba  noticed  the  incident ;  the  latter  was  busy 
connecting  the  three  cylinders  with  coils  of  wire;  the 
former,  deeply  interested,  followed  the  operation  for 
a  moment  or  two,  then  walking  over  to  the  trunk, 
he  lifted  from  it  a  curious  little  clock  with  two  dials 
and  set  it  on  the  railed  shelf  of  glass  above  the  wash- 
stand. 

"Karl,  haf  you  ship's  time?" 

Ali  Baba  paused  to  fish  out  his  watch,  and  the  two 
compared  timepieces.  Then  Golden  Beard  wound  the 
clock,  set  the  hands  of  one  dial  at  the  time  indicated 
by  their  watches ;  set  the  hands  of  the  other  dial  at 
2:18;  and  Ali  Baba,  carrying  a  reel  of  copper  wire 
from  the  bed  to  the  washstand,  fastened  one  end  of 
it  to  the  mechanism  of  the  clock. 

Golden  Beard  turned  sharply  on  Use  Dumont: 

"I  said  go  on  deck!     Did  you  not  understand?" 

The  girl  replied  steadily: 

"I  understood  that  we  had  abandoned  this  idea  fV 
a  better  one." 

"There  iss  no  better  one!" 

"There  is!  Of  what  advantage  would  it  be  to  blow 
up  the  captain's  cabin  and  the  bridge  when  it  is  not 
certain  that  the  papers  will  be  destroyed?" 

"Listen  once !"  returned  Golden  Beard,  wagging  his 
finger  in  her  face: 

"Cabin  and  bridge  are  directly  above  us  and  there 
remains  not  a  splinter  large  like  a  pin!  I  know.  I 
know  my  bombs  !  I  know — 

The  soft  voice  of  Ali  Baba  interrupted,  and  his  shal 
low,  lightish  eyes  peered  around  at  them : 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Eet  ees  veree  excellent  plan,  Johann.  We  do  not 
require  these  papers ;  eet  ees  to  destroy  them  we  are 
mooch  anxious" — he  bent  a  deathly  stare  on  Neeland 
— "and  this  yoong  gentleman  who  may  again  annoy 
us."  He  nodded  confidently  to  himself  and  continued 
to  connect  the  wires.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  murmured  ab 
sently,  "eet  ees  veree  good  plan — veree  good  plan  to 
blow  him  into  leetle  pieces  so  beeg  as  a  pin." 

"It  is  a  clumsy  plan!"  said  the  girl,  desperately. 
"There  is  no  need  for  wanton  killing  like  this,  when  we 
can " 

"Killing?"  repeated  Golden  Beard.  "That  makes 
nothing.  This  English  captain  he  iss  of  the  naval  re 
serve.  Und  this  young  man" — nodding  coolly  toward 
Neeland — "knows  too  much  already.  That  iss  not 
wanton  killing.  Also!  You  talk  too  much.  Do  you 
hear?  We  are  due  to  drop  anchor  about  2:30.  God 
knows  there  will  be  enough  rushing  to  and  fro  at  2 :13. 

"Go  on  deck,  I  say,  and  fasten  that  rope  ladder ! 
Weishelm's  fishing  smack  will  be  watching;  und  if  we 
do  not  swim  for  it  we  are  caught  on  board !  Und  that 
iss  the  end  of  it  all  for  us !" 

"Johann,"  she  began  tremulously,  "listen  to  me " 

"Nein!  Nein!  What  for  a  Frauenzimmer  haff  we 
here!"  retorted  Golden  Beard,  losing  his  patience  and 
catching  her  by  the  arm.  "Go  out  und  fix  for  us  our 
ladder  und  keep  it  coiled  on  the  rail  und  lean  ofer  it 
like  you  was  looking  at  those  stars  once!" 

He  forced  her  toward  the  door;  she  turned,  strug 
gling,  to  confront  him: 

"Then  for  God's  sake,  give  this  man  a  chance !  Don't 
leave  him  tied  here  to  be  blown  to  atoms !  Give  him  a 
chance — anything  except  this !  Throw  him  out  of  the 
port,  there !"  She  pointed  at  the  closed  port,  evaded 

242 


METHOD  AND  FORESIGHT 

Golden  Beard,  sprang  upon  the  sofa,  unscrewed  the 
glass  cover,  and  swung  it  open. 

The  port  was  too  small  even  to  admit  the  passage  of 
her  own  body;  she  realised  it;  Golden  Beard  laughed 
and  turned  to  examine  the  result  of  AH  Baba's  wiring. 

For  a  second  the  girl  gazed  wildly  around  her,  as 
though  seeking  some  help  in  her  terrible  dilemma,  then 
she  snatched  up  a  bit  of  the  torn  sheeting,  tied  it  to 
the  screw  of  the  porthole  cover,  and  flung  the  end  out 
where  it  fluttered  in  the  darkness. 

As  she  sprang  to  the  floor  Golden  Beard  swung  round 
in  renewed  anger  at  her  for  still  loitering. 

"Sacreminton !"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  time  you  do 
your  part !  Go  to  your  post  then !  We  remain  here 
until  five  minutes  is  left  us.  Then  we  join  you." 

The  girl  nodded,  turned  to  the  door. 

"Wait!     You  understand  the  plan?" 

"Yes." 

"You  understand  that  you  do  not  go  overboard  until 
we  arrive,  no  matter  what  happens?" 

"Yes." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  with  a 
shrug  he  went  over  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

"That's  my  brave  girl !  I  also  do  not  desire  to  kill 
anybody.  But  when  the  Fatherland  is  in  danger,  then 
killing  signifies  nothing — is  of  no  consequence — pouf ! 
— no  lives  are  of  importance  then — not  even  our  own !" 
He  laughed  in  a  fashion  almost  kindly  and  clapped  her 
lightly  once  more  on  her  shoulder :  "Go,  my  child.  The 
Fatherland  is  in  danger !" 

She  went,  not  looking  back.  He  closed  and  locked 
the  door  behind  her  and  calmly  turned  to  aid  AH  Baba 
who  was  still  fussing  with  the  wires.  Presently,  how 
ever,  he  mounted  the  bed  where  Neeland  sat  tied  and 


THE  DARK  STAR 


gagged;  pulled  from  his  pockets  an  auger  with  its  bit, 
a  screw-eye,  and  block  and  tackle;  and,  standing  on 
the  bed,  began  to  bore  a  hole  in  the  ceiling. 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  fastened  the  screw-eye, 
rigged  his  block,  made  a  sling  for  his  bombs  out  of  a 
blanket,  and  had  hoisted  the  three  cylinders  up  flat; 
against  the  ceiling  from  whence  the  connecting  wires 
sagged  over  the  foot  of  the  bedstead  to  the  alarm  clock 
on  the  washstand. 

To  give  the  clock  more  room  on  the  glass  shelf,  Ali 
Baba  removed  the  toilet  accessories  and  set  them  on 
the  washstand;  but  he  had  no  room  for  a  large  jug 
of  water,  and,  casting  about  for  a  place  to  set  it,  no 
ticed  a  railed  bracket  over  the  head  of  the  bed,  and 
placed  it  there. 

Then,  apparently  satisfied  with  his  labours,  he  sat 
down  Turk  fashion  on  the  sofa,  lighted  a  cigarette, 
selected  a  bonbon  from  the  box  beside  him,  and  calmly 
regaled  himself. 

Presently  Golden  Beard  tied  the  cord  which  held  up 
the  sling  in  which  the  bombs  were  slung  against  the 
ceiling.  He  fastened  it  tightly  to  the  iron  frame  of 
the  bed,  stepped  back  to  view  the  effect,  then  leisurely 
pulled  out  and  filled  his  porcelain  pipe,  and  seated  him 
self  on  the  sofa  beside  Ali  Baba. 

Neither  spoke;  twice  Golden  Beard  drew  his  watch 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  compared  it  carefully 
with  the  dial  of.  the  alarm  clock  on  the  washstand  shelf. 
The  third  time  he  did  this  he  tapped  Ali  Baba  on  the 
shoulder,  rose,  knocked  out  his  pipe  and  flung  it  out 
of  the  open  port. 

Together  they  walked  over  to  Neeland,  examined 
the  gag  and  ligatures  as  impersonally  as  though  the 
prisoner  were  not  there,  nodded  their  satisfaction, 


METHOD  AND  FORESIGHT 

turned  off  the  electric  light,  and,  letting  themselves  out, 
locked  the  door  on  the  outside. 

It  lacked  five  minutes  of  the  time  indicated  on  the 
alarm  dial. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TWO  THIRTEEN 

To  Neeland,  the  entire  affair  had  seemed  as  though 
it  were  some  rather  obvious  screen-picture  at  which  he 
was  looking — some  photo-play  too  crudely  staged,  and 
in  which  he  himeslf  was  no  more  concerned  than  any 
casual  spectator. 

Until  now,  Neeland  had  not  been  scared;  Ali  Baba 
and  his  automatic  pistol  were  only  part  of  this  un 
reality;  his  appearance  on  the  scene  had  been  fan 
tastically  classical;  he  entered  when  his  cue  was  given 
by  Scheherazade — this  oily,  hawk-nosed  Eurasian  with 
his  pale  eyes  set  too  closely  and  his  moustache  hiding 
under  his  nose  a  la  Enver  Pasha — a  faultless  make-up, 
an  entry  properly  timed  and  prepared.  And  then,  al 
ways  well-timed  for  dramatic  effect,  Golden  Beard  had 
appeared.  Everything  was  en  regie,  every  unity  nicely 
preserved.  Scheherazade  had  protested ;  and  her  pro 
test  sounded  genuine.  Also  entirely  convincing  was  the 
binding  and  gagging  of  himself  at  the  point  of  an  auto 
matic  pistol ;  and,  as  for  the  rest  of  the  business,  it  was 
practically  all  action  and  little  dialogue — an  achieve 
ment  really  in  these  days  of  dissertation. 

All,  as  he  looked  on  at  it  over  the  bandage  which 
closed  his  mouth,  had  seemed  unreal,  impersonal,  even 
when  his  forced  attitude  had  caused  him  inconvenience 
and  finally  pain. 

But  now,  with  the  light  extinguished  and  the  closing 
of  the  door  behind  Golden  Beard  and  Ali  Baba,  he  ex- 

246 


TWO    THIRTEEN 


perienced  a  shock  which  began  to  awaken  him  to  the 
almost  incredible  and  instant  reality  of  things. 

It  actually  began  to  look  as  though  these  story-book 
conspirators — these  hirelings  of  a  foreign  government 
who  had  not  been  convincing  because  they  were  too  ob 
vious,  too  well  done — actually  intended  to  expose  him 
to  serious  injury. 

In  spite  of  their  sinister  intentions  in  regard  to  him, 
in  spite  of  their  attempts  to  harm  him,  he  had  not, 
so  far,  been  able  to  take  them  seriously  or  even  to 
reconcile  them  and  their  behaviour  with  the  common 
places  of  the  twentieth  century  in  which  he  lived. 

But  now,  in  the  darkness,  with  the  clock  on  the  wash- 
stand  shelf  ticking  steadily,  he  began  to  take  the  matter 
very  seriously.  The  gag  in  his  mouth  hurt  him  cruelly ; 
the  bands  of  linen  that  held  it  in  began  to  stifle  him  so 
that  his  breath  came  in  quick  gasps  through  his  nostrils  ; 
sweat  started  at  the  roots  of  his  hair ;  his  heart  leaped, 
beat  madly,  stood  still,  and  leaped  again ;  and  he  threw 
himself  against  the  strips  that  held  him  and  twisted  and 
writhed  with  all  his  strength. 

Suddenly  fear  pierced  him  like  a  poignard;  for  a 
moment  panic  seized  him  and  chaos  reigned  in  his 
bursting  brain.  He  swayed  and  strained  convulsively ; 
he  strove  to  hurl  all  the  inward  and  inert  reserve  of 
strength  against  the  bonds  that  held  him. 

After  what  seemed  an  age  of  terrible  effort  he  found 
himself  breathing  fast  and  heavily  as  though  his  lungs 
would  burst  through  his  straining,  dilating  nostrils, 
seated  exactly  as  he  had  been  without  a  band  loosened, 
and  the  icy  sweat  pouring  over  his  twitching  face. 

He  heard  himself  trying  to  shout — heard  the  im 
prisoned  groan  shattered  in  his  own  throat,  dying  there 
within  him. 

247 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Suddenly  a  key  rattled ;  the  door  was  torn  open ;  the 
light  switched  on.  Golden  Beard  stood  there,  his  blue 
eyes  glaring  furious  inquiry.  He  gave  one  glance 
around  the  room,  caught  sight  of  the  clock,  recoiled, 
shut  off  the  light  again,  and  slammed  and  locked  the 
door. 

But  in  that  instant  Neeland's  starting  eyes  had  seen 
the  clock.  The  fixed  hands  on  one  of  the  dials  still 
pointed  to  2 :13 ;  the  moving  hands  on  the  other  lacked 
three  minutes  of  that  hour. 

And,  seated  there  in  the  pitch  darkness,  he  suddenly 
realised  that  he  had  only  three  minutes  more  of  life  on 
earth. 

All  panic  was  gone ;  his  mind  was  quite  clear.  He 
heard  every  tick  of  the  clock  and  knew  what  each  one 
meant. 

Also  he  heard  a  sudden  sound  across  the  room,  as 
though  outside  the  port  something  was  rustling  against 
the  ship's  side. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  click  and  the  room  sprang 
into  full  light;  an  arm,  entering  the  open  port  from 
the  darkness  outside,  let  go  the  electric  button,  was 
withdrawn,  only  to  reappear  immediately  clutching  an 
automatic  pistol.  And  the  next  instant  the  arm  and 
the  head  of  Use  Dumont  were  thrust  through  the  port 
into  the  room. 

Her  face  was  pale  as  death  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
dial  of  the  clock.  With  a  gasp  she  stretched  out  her 
arm  and  fired  straight  at  the  clock,  shattering  both 
dials  and  knocking  the  timepiece  into  the  washbasin 
below. 

For  a  moment  she  struggled  to  force  her  other  shoul 
der  and  her  body  through  the  port,  but  it  was  too 
narrow.  Then  she  called  across  to  the  bound  figure 

248 


§ 

- 


TWO    THIRTEEN 


seated  on  the  bed  and  staring  at  her  with  eyes  that 
fairly  started  from  their  sockets: 

"Mr.  Neeland,  can't  you  move?  Try!  Try  to  break 
loose— 

Her  voice  died  away  in  a  whisper  as  a  flash  of  bluish 
flame  broke  out  close  to  the  ceiling  overhead,  where  the 
three  bombs  were  slung. 

"Oh,  God!"  she  faltered.     "The  fuses  are  afire!" 

For  an  instant  her  brain  reeled ;  she  instinctively  re 
coiled  as  though  to  fling  herself  out  into  the  darkness. 
Then,  in  a  second,  her  extended  arm  grew  rigid,  slanted 
upward ;  the  pistol  exploded  once,  twice,  the  third  time ; 
the  lighted  bombs  in  their  sling,  released  by  the  severed 
rope,  fell  to  the  bed,  the  fuses  sputtering  and  fizzling. 

Instantly  the  girl  fired  again  at  the  big  jug  of  water 
on  the  bracket  over  the  head  of  the  bed;  a  deluge 
drenched  the  bed  underneath;  two  fuses  were  out;  one 
still  snapped  and  glimmered  and  sent  up  little  jets  and 
rings  of  vapour ;  but  as  the  water  soaked  into  the  match 
the  cinder  slowly  died  until  the  last  spark  fell  from 
the  charred  wet  end  and  went  out  on  the  drenched 
blanket. 

She  waited  a  little  longer,  then  with  an  indescribable 
look  at  the  helpless  man  below,  she  withdrew  her  head, 
pushed  herself  free,  hung  to  the  invisible  rope  ladder 
for  a  moment,  swaying  against  the  open  port.  His  eyes 
were  fastened  on  her  where  she  dangled  there  against 
the  darkness  betwixt  sky  and  sea,  oscillating  with  the 
movement  of  the  ship,  her  pendant  figure  now  gilded  by 
the  light  from  the  room,  now  phantom  dim  as  she  swung 
outward. 

As  the  roll  of  the  ship  brought  her  head  to  the  level 
of  the  port  once  more,  she  held  up  her  pistol,  shook  it, 
and  laughed  at  him : 

249 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Now  do  you  believe  that  I  can  shoot?"  she  called 
out.  "Answer  me  some  time  when  that  mocking  tongue 
of  yours  is  free !" 

Then,  climbing  slowly  upward  into  darkness,  the 
light,  falling  now  across  her  body,  now  athwart  her 
skirt,  gilded  at  last  the  heels  of  her  shoes ;  suddenly  she 
was  gone ;  then  stars  glittered  through  the  meshes  of 
the  shadowy,  twitching  ladder  which  still  barred  the 
open  port.  And  finally  the  ladder  was  pulled  upward 
out  of  sight. 

He  waited.  After  a  little  while — an  interminable 
interval  to  him — he  heard  somebody  stealthily  trying 
the  handle  of  the  door ;  then  came  a  pause,  silence,  fol 
lowed  by  a  metallic  noise  as  though  the  lock  were  being 
explored  or  picked. 

For  a  while  the  scraping,  metallic  sounds  continued 
steadily,  then  abruptly  ceased  as  though  the  unseen 
meddler  had  been  interrupted. 

A  voice — evidently  the  voice  of  the  lock-picker — 
pitched  to  a  cautious  key,  was  heard  in  protest  as 
though  objecting  to  some  intentions  evident  in  the 
new  arrival.  Whispered  expostulations  continued  for 
a  while,  then  the  voices  became  quarrelsome  and 
louder ;  and  somebody  suddenly  rapped  on  the  door. 

Then  a  thick,  soft  voice  that  he  recognised  with  a 
chill,  grew  angrily  audible: 

"I  say  to  you,  steward,  that  I  forbid  you  to  entaire 
that  room.  I  forbid  you  to  disturb  thees  yoong  lady. 
Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"I  don't  care  who  you  are " 

"I  have  authority.  I  shall  employ  it.  You  shall  lose 
your  berth !  Thees  yoong  lady  within  thees  room  ees 
my  fiancee !  I  forbid  you  to  enter  forcibly 

"Haven't  I  knocked?  Wot's  spilin'  you?  I  am  do- 
250 


'Now  do  you  believe  that  I  can 
shoot?"  she  called  out. 


TWO   THIRTEEN 


ing  my  duty.  Back  away  from  this  'ere  door,  I  tell 
you!" 

"You  spik  thees-a-way,  so  impolite " 

"Get  out  o'  my  way !  Blime  d'you  think  I'll  stand 
'ere  jawin'  any  longer?" 

"I  am  membaire  of  Parliament " 

And  the  defiant  voice  of  Jim's  own  little  cockney 
steward  retorted,  interrupting: 

"Ahr,  stow  it !  Don't  I  tell  you  as  how  a  lydy  tele 
phones  me  just  now  that  my  young  gentleman  is  in 
there?  Get  away  from  that  door,  you  blighter,  or  I'll 
bash  your  beak  in!" 

The  door  trembled  under  a  sudden  and  terrific  kick ; 
the  wordy  quarrel  ceased ;  hurried  steps  retreated  along 
the  corridor;  a  pass  key  rattled  in  the  lock,  and  the 
door  was  flung  wide  open : 

"Mr.  Neeland,  sir — oh,  my  Gawd,  wot  ever  'ave  they 
gone  and  done,  sir,  to  find  you  'ere  in  such  a  'orrid 
state !" 

But  the  little  cockney  lost  no  time ;  fingers  and  pen 
knife  flew;  Neeland,  his  arms  free,  tore  the  bandage 
from  his  mouth  and  spat  out  the  wad  of  cloth. 

"I'll  do  the  rest,"  he  gasped,  forcing  the  words  from 
his  bruised  and  distorted  lips ;  "follow  that  man  who 
was  outside  talking  to  you !  Find  him  if  you  can.  He 
had  been  planning  to  blow  up  this  ship !" 

"That  man,  sir!" 

"Yes!     Did  you  know  him?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  darsn't  let  on  to  him  I  knew  him — 
what  with  'earing  that  you  was  in  here " 

"You  did  know  him?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Mr.  Neeland,  sir,  that  there  cove  is  wot  he  says 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  is,  a  member  of  Parliament,  and  his  name  is  Wil 
son " 

"You're  mad!  He's  an  Eurasian,  a  spy;  his  name 
is  Karl  Breslau — I  heard  it  from  the  others — and  he 
tried  to  blow  up  the  captain's  cabin  and  the  bridge  with 
those  three  bombs  lying  there  on  the  bed!" 

"My  God,  sir- — what  you  tell  me  may  be  so,  but  what 
I  say  is  true,  sir;  that  gentleman  you  heard  talking 
outside  the  door  to  me  is  Charles  Wilson,  member  of 
Parliament,  representing  Glebe  and  Wotherness ;  and 
I  knew  it  w'en  I  'anded  'im  the  'ot  stuff! — 'strewth  I 
did,  sir — and  took  my  chance  you'd  'elp  me  out  if  I 
got  in  too  rotten  with  the  company !" 

Neeland  said: 

"Certainly  you  may  count  on  me.  You're  a  brick!" 
He  continued  to  rub  and  slap  and  pinch  his  arms  and 
legs  to  restore  the  circulation,  and  finally  ventured  to 
rise  to  his  shaky  feet.  The  steward  offered  an  arm; 
together  they  hobbled  to  the  door,  summoned  another 
steward,  placed  him  in  charge  of  the  room,  and  went 
on  in  quest  of  Captain  West,  to  whom  an  immediate 
report  was  now  imperative. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ON  HIS    WAY 

THE  sun  hung  well  above  the  river  mists  and  threw 
long,  cherry-red  beams  across  the  choppy  channel  where 
clotted  jets  of  steam  and  smoke  from  tug  and  steamer 
drifted  with  the  fog;  and  still  the  captain  of  the  Vol- 
Jiyma  and  young  Neeland  sat  together  in  low-voiced 
conference  in  the  captain's  cabin;  and  a  sailor,  armed 
with  cutlass  and  pistol,  stood  outside  the  locked  and 
bolted  door. 

Off  the  port  bow,  Liverpool  spread  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see  through  the  shredded  fog;  to  starboard,  off 
Birkenhead,  through  a  haze  of  pearl  and  lavender,  the 
tall  phantom  of  an  old-time  battleship  loomed.  She 
was  probably  one  of  Nelson's  ships,  now  only  an  appa 
rition  ;  but  to  Neeland,  as  he  caught  sight  of  her  dimly 
revealed,  still  dominating  the  water,  the  old  ship  seemed 
like  a  menacing  ghost,  never  to  be  laid  until  the  sceptre 
of  sea  power  fell  from  an  enervated  empire  and  the 
glory  of  Great  Britain  departed  for  all  time.  And  in 
his  Yankee  heart  he  hoped  devoutly  that  such  disaster 
to  the  world  might  never  come  upon  it. 

Few  passengers  were  yet  astir;  the  tender  had  not 
yet  come  alongside ;  the  monstrous  city  beyond  had 
not  awakened. 

But  a  boat  manned  by  Liverpool  police  lay  off  the 
Volhyma's  port;  Neeland's  steamer  trunk  was  already 
in  it;  and  now  the  captain  accompanied  him  to  the 
ladder,  where  a  sailor  took  his  suitcase  and  the  olive- 

253 


THE  DARK  STAR 


wood  box  and  ran  down  the  landing  stairs  like  a  monkey. 

"Good  luck,"  said  the  captain  of  the  Volhynia.  "And 
keep  it  in  your  mind  every  minute  that  those  two  men 
and  that  woman  probably  are  at  this  moment  aboard 
some  German  fishing  craft,  and  headed  for  France. 

"Remember,  too,  that  they  are  merely  units  in  a  vast 
system ;  that  they  are  certain  to  communicate  with 
other  units;  that  between  you  and  Paris  are  people 
who  will  be  notified  to  watch  for  you,  follow  you,  rob 

you." 

Neeland  nodded  thoughtfully. 

The  captain  said  again: 

"Good  luck !  I  wish  you  were  free  to  turn  over  that 
box  to  us.  But  if  you've  given  your  word  to  deliver  it 
in  person,  the  whole  matter  involves,  naturally,  a  point 
of  honour." 

"Yes.  I  have  no  discretion  in  the  matter,  you  see." 
He  laughed.  "You're  thinking,  Captain  West,  that  I 
haven't  much  discretion  anyway." 

"I  don't  think  you  have  very  much,"  admitted  the 
captain,  smiling  and  shaking  the  hand  which  Neeland 
offered.  "Well,  this  is  merely  one  symptom  of  a  very 
serious  business,  Mr.  Neeland.  That  an  attempt  should 
actually  have  been  made  to  murder  you  and  to  blow 
me  to  pieces  in  my  cabin  is  a  slight  indication  of  what 
a  cataclysmic  explosion  may  shatter  the  peace  of  the 
entire  world  at  any  moment  now.  .  .  .  Good-bye.  And 
I  warn  you  very  solemnly  to  take  this  affair  as  a  deadly 
serious  one  and  not  as  a  lark." 

They  exchanged  a  firm  clasp ;  then  Neeland  descended 
and  entered  the  boat ;  the  Inspector  of  Police  took  the 
tiller ;  the  policemen  bent  to  the  oars,  and  the  boat  shot 
away  through  a  mist  which  was  turning  to  a  golden 
vapour. 

254 


ON    HIS    WAY 


It  was  within  a  few  boat-lengths  of  the  landing  stairs 
that  Neeland,  turning  for  a  last  look  into  the  steaming 
golden  glory  behind  him,  saw  the  most  splendid  sight 
of  his  life.  And  that  sight  was  the  British  Empire 
assuming  sovereignty. 

For  there,  before  his  eyes,  militant,  magnificent,  the 
British  fleet  was  taking  the  sea,  gliding  out  to  accept 
its  fealty,  moving  majestically  in  mass  after  mass  of 
steel  under  flowing  torrents  of  smoke,  with  the  phantom 
battle  flags  whipping  aloft  in  the  blinding  smother  of 
mist  and  sun  and  the  fawning  cut-water  hurrying  too, 
as  though  even  every  littlest  wave  were  mobilised  and 
hastening  seaward  in  the  service  of  its  mistress.  Ruler 
of  all  Waters,  untroubled  by  a  man-made  Kiel. 

And  now  there  was  no  more  time  to  be  lost ;  no  more 
stops  until  he  arrived  in  Paris.  A  taxicab  rushed  him 
and  his  luggage  across  the  almost  empty  city;  a  train, 
hours  earlier  than  the  regular  steamer  train,  carried 
him  to  London  where,  as  he  drove  through  the  crowded, 
sunlit  streets,  in  a  hansom  cab,  he  could  see  news- 
venders  holding  up  strips  of  paper  on  which  was  printed 
in  great,  black  letters : 

THE  BRITISH  FLEET  SAILS 

SPY  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS 

CHARLES  WILSON,  M.P.,  ACCUSED 

MISSING  MEMBEE  SUPPOSED  TO  BE   KARL  BRESLAU, 
INTERNATIONAL  SPY 

And  he  noticed  knots  of  people  pausing  to  buy  the 
latest  editions  of  the  papers  offered. 

But  Neeland  had  no  time  to  see  much  more  of  Lon 
don  than  that — glimpses  of  stately  grey  buildings  and 

255 


THE  DARK  STAR 


green  trees ;  of  monuments  and  palaces  where  soldiers 
in  red  tunics  stood  guard;  the  crush  of  traffic  in  the 
city;  trim,  efficient  police,  their  helmets  strapped  to 
their  heads,  disentangling  the  streams  of  vehicles,  halt 
ing,  directing  everything  with  calm  and  undisturbed 
precision;  a  squadron  of  cavalry  in  brilliant  uniforms 
leisurely  emerging  from  some  park  between  iron  rail 
ings  under  stately  trees ;  then  the  crowded  confusion 
of  a  railroad  station,  but  not  the  usual  incidents  of 
booking  and  departure,  because  he  was  to  travel  by  a 
fast  goods  train  under  telegraphed  authority  of  the 
British  Government. 

And  that  is  about  all  that  Neeland  saw  of  the  might 
iest  city  in  the  world  on  the  eve  of  the  greatest  conflict 
among  the  human  races  that  the  earth  has  ever  wit 
nessed,  or  ever  shall,  D.  V. 

The  flying  goods  train  that  took  him  to  the  Channel 
port  whence  a  freight  packet  was  departing,  offered 
him  the  luxury  of  a  leather  padded  armchair  in  a 
sealed  and  grated  mail  van. 

Nobody  disturbed  him;  nobody  questioned  him;  the 
train  officials  were  civil  and  incurious,  and  went  calmly 
about  their  business  with  all  the  traditional  stolidity 
of  official  John  Bull. 

Neeland  had  plenty  of  leisure  to  think  as  he  sat  there 
in  his  heavy  chair  which  vibrated  but  did  not  sway  very 
much ;  and  his  mind  was  fully  occupied  with  his  reflec 
tions,  for,  so  far,  he  had  not  had  time  to  catalogue, 
index,  and  arrange  them  in  proper  order,  so  rapid  and 
so  startling  had  been  the  sequence  of  events  since  he 
had  left  his  studio  in  New  York  for  Paris,  via  Brook- 
hollow,  London,  and  other  points  east. 

One  thing  in  particular  continued  to  perplex  and 
astonish  him:  the  identity  of  a  member  of  Parliament, 

256 


ON   HIS    WAY 


known  as  Charles  Wilson,  suddenly  revealed  as  Karl 
Breslau,  an  international  spy. 

The  wildest  flight  of  fancy  of  an  irresponsible  nov 
elist  had  never  created  such  a  character  in  penny-dread 
ful  fiction.  It  remained  incomprehensible,  almost  in 
credible  to  Neeland  that  such  a  thing  could  be  true. 

Also,  the  young  man  had  plenty  of  food  for  reflec 
tion,  if  not  for  luncheon,  in  trying  to  imagine  exactly 
how  Golden  Beard  and  Ali  Balm,  and  that  strange, 
illogical  young  girl,  Use  Dumont,  had  escaped  from 
the  VoUiynia. 

Probably,  in  the  darkness,  the  fishing  boat  which 
they  expected  had  signalled  in  some  way  or  other.  No 
doubt  the  precious  trio  had  taken  to  the  water  in  their 
life-jackets  and  had  been  picked  up  even  before  armed 
sailors  on  the  Volliynia  descended  to  their  empty  state 
rooms  and  took  possession  of  what  luggage  could  be 
discovered,  and  of  the  three  bombs  with  their  charred 
wicks  still  soaking  on  the  sopping  bed. 

And  now  the  affair  had  finally  ended,  Neeland  be 
lieved,  in  spite  of  Captain  West's  warnings.  For  how 
could  three  industrious  conspirators  in  a  fishing  smack 
off  the  Lizard  do  him  any  further  damage? 

If  they  had  managed  to  relay  information  concern 
ing  him  to  their  friends  ashore  by  some  set  of  precon 
certed  signals,  possibly  the  regular  steamer  train  to  and 
out  of  London  might  be  watched. 

Thinking  of  this,  it  presently  occurred  to  Neeland 
that  friends  in  France,  also,  might  be  stirred  up  in  time 
to  offer  him  their  marked  attentions.  This,  no  doubt, 
was  what  Captain  West  meant ;  and  Neeland  considered 
the  possibility  as  the  flying  train  whirled  him  toward 
the  Channel. 

He  asked  if  he  might  smoke,  and  was  informed  that 
257 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  might;  and  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  stretched  out 
on  his  chair,  a  little  hungry  from  lack  of  luncheon,  a 
trifle  tired  from  lack  of  sleep,  but,  in  virtue  of  his  vig 
orous  and  youthful  years,  comfortable,  contented,  and 
happy. 

Never,  he  admitted,  had  he  had  such  a  good  time  in 
all  his  life,  despite  the  fact  that  chance  alone,  and  not 
his  own  skill  and  alertness  and  perspicacity,  had  saved 
his  neck. 

No,  he  could  not  congratulate  himself  on  his  clever 
ness  and  wisdom;  sheer  accident  had  saved  his  skin — 
and  once  the  complex  and  unaccountable  vagary  of  a 
feminine  mind  had  saved  him  from  annihilation  so  utter 
that  it  slightly  sickened  him  to  remember  his  position 
in  Use  Dumont's  stateroom  as  she  lifted  her  pistol  and 
coolly  made  good  her  boast  as  a  dead-shot.  But  he 
forced  himself  to  take  it  lightly. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  thought  to  himself.  "Was  ever  a 
man  in  such  a  hellish  position,  except  in  melodrama? 
And  what  a  movie  that  would  have  made!  And  what 
a  shot  that  girl  proved  herself  to  be!  Certainly  she 
could  have  killed  me  there  at  Brookhollow !  She  could 
have  riddled  me  before  I  ducked,  even  with  that  nickel- 
plated  affair  about  which  I  was  ass  enough  to  taunt 
her!" 

Lying  in  his  chair,  cheek  on  arm,  he  continued  to 
ponder  on  what  had  happened,  until  the  monotonous 
vibration  no  longer  interfered  with  his  inclination  for 
a  nap.  On  the  contrary,  the  slight,  rhythmic  jolting 
soothed  him  and  gradually  induced  slumber;  and  he 
slept  there  on  the  rushing  train,  his  feet  crossed  and 
resting  on  the  olive-wood  box. 

A  hand  on  his  arm  aroused  him ;  the  sea  wind  blowing 

258 


ON   HIS    WAY 


through  the  open  doors  of  the  mail-van  dashed  in  his 
face  like  a  splash  of  cool  water  as  he  sat  up  and  looked 
around  him. 

As  he  descended  from  the  van  an  officer  of  the  freight 
packet  greeted  him  by  name ;  a  sailor  piled  his  luggage 
on  a  barrow;  and  Neeland  walked  through  the  vista  of 
covered  docks  to  the  pier. 

There  was  a  lively  wind  whipping  that  notoriously 
bad-mannered  streak  of  water  known  as  the  English 
Channel.  Possibly,  had  it  been  christened  the  French 
Channel  its  manners  might  have  been  more  polite.  But 
there  was  now  nothing  visible  about  it  to  justify  its  sen 
timental  pseudonym  of  Silver  Streak. 

It  was  a  dirty  colour,  ominous  of  ill-temper  beyond 
the  great  breakwater  to  the  northward;  and  it  fretted 
and  fumed  inshore  and  made  white  and  ghastly  faces 
from  the  open  sea. 

But  Neeland,  dining  from  a  tray  in  a  portholed  pit 
consecrated  to  the  use  of  a  casual  supercargo,  rejoiced 
because  he  adored  the  sea,  inland  lubber  that  he  had 
been  born  and  where  the  tides  of  fate  had  stranded  him. 
For,  to  a  New  Yorker,  the  sea  seems  far  away — as  far 
as  it  seems  to  the  Parisian.  And  only  when  chance 
business  takes  him  to  the  Battery  does  a  New  Yorker 
realise  the  nearness  of  the  ocean  to  that  vast  volume  of 
ceaseless  dissonance  called  New  York. 

Neeland  ate  cold  meat  and  bread  and  cheese,  and 
washed  it  down  with  bitters. 

He  was  nearly  asleep  on  his  sofa  when  the  packet 
cast  off. 

He  was  sound  asleep  when,  somewhere  in  the  rag 
ing  darkness  of  the  Channel,  he  was  hurled  from  the 
sofa  against  the  bunk  opposite — into  which  he  pres- 

259 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ently  crawled  and  lay,  still  half  asleep,  mechanically 
rubbing  a  maltreated  shin. 

Twice  more  the  bad-mannered  British  Channel  was 
violently  rude  to  him;  each  time  he  crawled  back  to 
stick  like  a  limpet  in  the  depths  of  his  bunk. 

Except  when  the  Channel  was  too  discourteous,  he 
slept  as  a  sea  bird  sleeps  afloat,  tossing  outside  thun 
dering  combers  which  batter  basalt  rocks. 

Even  in  his  deep,  refreshing  sea  sleep,  the  subtle  sense 
of  exhilaration — of  well-being — which  contact  with  the 
sea  always  brought  to  him,  possessed  him.  And,  deep 
within  him,  the  drop  of  Irish  seethed  and  purred  as  a 
kettle  purrs  through  the  watches  of  the  night  over  a 
banked  but  steady  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 

OVER  the  drenched  sea  wall  gulls  whirled  and  eddied 
above  the  spouting  spray;  the  grey  breakwater  was 
smothered  under  exploding  combers  ;  quai,  docks,  white 
washed  lighthouse,  swept  with  spindrift,  appeared  and 
disappeared  through  the  stormy  obscurity  as  the  ten 
der  from  the  Channel  packet  fought  its  way  shoreward 
with  Neeland's  luggage  lashed  in  the  cabin,  and 
Neeland  himself  sticking  to  the  deck  like  a  fly  to  a 
frantic  mustang,  enchanted  with  the  whole  busi 
ness. 

For  the  sea,  at  last,  was  satisfying  this  young  man ; 
he  savoured  now  what  he  had  longed  for  as  a  little  boy, 
guiding  a  home-made  raft  on  the  waters  of  Neeland's 
mill  pond  in  the  teeth  of  a  summer  breeze.  Before  he 
had  ever  seen  the  ocean  he  wanted  all  it  had  to  give 
short  of  shipwreck  and  early  decease.  He  had  experi 
enced  it  on  the  Channel  during  the  night. 

There  was  only  one  other  passenger  aboard — a  tall, 
lean,  immaculately  dressed  man  with  a  ghastly  pallor, 
a  fox  face,  and  ratty  eyes,  who  looked  like  an  Ameri 
can  and  who  had  been  dreadfully  sick.  Not  caring  for 
his  appearance,  Neeland  did  not  speak  to  him.  Besides, 
he  was  having  too  good  a  time  to  pay  attention  to  any 
body  or  anything  except  the  sea. 

A  sailor  had  lent  Neeland  some  oilskins  and  a  sou' 
wester  ;  and  he  hated  to  put  them  off — hated  the  calmer 
waters  inside  the  basin  where  the  tender  now  lay  rock- 

261 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ing ;  longed  for  the  gale  and  the  heavy  seas  again,  sorry 
the  crossing  was  ended. 

He  cast  a  last  glance  of  regret  at  the  white  fury 
raging  beyond  the  breakwater  as  he  disembarked  among 
a  crowd  of  porters,  gendarmes,  soldiers,  and  assorted 
officials ;  then,  following  his  porter  to  the  customs,  he 
prepared  to  submit  to  the  unvarying  indignities  inci 
dent  to  luggage  examination  in  France. 

He  had  leisure,  while  awaiting  his  turn,  to  buy  a 
novel,  "Les  Bizarettes,"  of  Maurice  Bertrand;  time, 
also,  to  telegraph  to  the  Princess  Mistchenka.  The 
fox-faced  man,  who  looked  like  an  American,  was  now 
speaking  French  like  one  to  a  perplexed  official,  inquir 
ing  where  the  Paris  train  was  to  be  found.  Neeland 
listened  to  the  fluent  information  on  his  own  account, 
then  returned  to  the  customs  bench. 

But  the  unusually  minute  search  among  his  effects 
did  not  trouble  him;  the  papers  from  the  olive-wood 
box  were  buttoned  in  his  breast  pocket;  and  after  a 
while  the  customs  officials  let  him  go  to  the  train  which 
stood  beside  an  uncovered  concrete  platform  beyond 
the  quai,  and  toward  which  the  fox-faced  American 
had  preceded  him  on  legs  that  still  wabbled  with  sea 
sickness. 

There  were  no  Pullmans  attached  to  the  train,  only 
the  usual  first,  second,  and  third  class  carriages  with 
compartments ;  and  a  new  style  corridor  car  with  cen 
tral  aisle  and  lettered  doors  to  compartments  holding 
four. 

Into  one  of  these  compartments  Neeland  stepped, 
hoping  for  seclusion,  but  backed  out  again,  the  place 
being  full  of  artillery  officers  playing  cards. 

In  vain  he  bribed  the  guard,  who  offered  to  do  his 
best;  but  the  human  contents  of  a  Channel  passenger 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


steamer  had  unwillingly  spent  the  night  in  the  quaint 
French  port,  and  the  Paris-bound  train  was  already 
full. 

The  best  Neeland  could  do  was  to  find  a  seat  in  a 
compartment  where  he  interrupted  conversation  be 
tween  three  men  who  turned  sullen  heads  to  look  at 
him,  resenting  in  silence  the  intrusion.  One  of  them 
was  the  fox-faced  man  he  had  already  noticed  on  the 
packet,  tender,  and  customs  dock. 

But  Neeland,  whose  sojourn  in  a  raw  and  mannerless 
metropolis  had  not  blotted  out  all  memory  of  gentler 
cosmopolitan  conventions,  lifted  his  hat  and  smilingly 
excused  his  intrusion  in  the  fluent  and  agreeable  French 
of  student  days,  before  he  noticed  that  he  had  to  do 
with  men  of  his  own  race. 

None  of  the  men  returned  his  salute;  one  of  them 
merely  emitted  an  irritated  grunt ;  and  Neeland  recog 
nised  that  they  all  must  be  his  own  delightful  country 
men — for  even  the  British  are  more  dignified  in  their 
stolidity. 

A  second  glance  satisfied  him  that  all  three  were  un 
doubtedly  Americans ;  the  cut  of  their  straw  hats  and 
apparel  distinguished  them  as  such ;  the  nameless  grace 
of  Mart,  Haffner  and  Sharx  marked  the  tailoring  of 
the  three ;  only  Honest  Werner  could  have  manufac 
tured  such  headgear;  only  New  York  such  foot 
wear. 

And  Neeland  looked  at  them  once  more  and  under 
stood  that  Broadway  itself  sat  there  in  front  of  him, 
pasty,  close-shaven,  furtive,  sullen-eyed,  the  New  York 
Paris  Herald  in  its  seal-ringed  fingers ;  its  fancy  waist 
coat  pockets  bulging  with  cigars. 

"Sports,"  he  thought  to  himself;  and  decided  to 
maintain  incognito  and  pass  as  a  Frenchman,  if  neces- 

263 


THE  DARK  STAR 


sary,  to  escape  conversation  with  the  three  tired-eyed 
ones. 

So  he  hung  up  his  hat,  opened  his  novel,  and  settled 
back  to  endure  the  trip  through  the  rain,  now  begin 
ning  to  fall  from  a  low-sagging  cloud  of  watery 
grey. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  train  moved.  Later  the 
guard  passed  and  accomplished  his  duties.  Neeland 
inquired  politely  of  him  in  French  whether  there  was 
any  political  news,  and  the  guard  replied  politely  that 
he  knew  of  none.  But  he  looked  very  serious  when  he 
said  it. 

Half  an  hour  from  the  coast  the  rain  dwindled  to  a 
rainbow  and  ceased;  and  presently  a  hot  sun  was  gild 
ing  wet  green  fields  and  hedges  and  glistening  roofs 
which  steamed  vapour  from  every  wet  tile. 

Without  asking  anybody's  opinion,  one  of  the  men 
opposite  raised  the  window.  But  Neeland  did  not  ob 
ject;  the  rain-washed  air  was  deliciously  fragrant;  and 
he  leaned  his  elbow  on  his  chair  arm  and  looked  out 
across  the  loveliest  land  in  Europe. 

"Say,  friend,"  said  an  East  Side  voice  at  his  elbow, 
"does  smoking  go?" 

He  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  speaker — 
a  little,  pallid,  sour-faced  man  with  the  features  of  a 
sick  circus  clown  and  eyes  like  two  holes  burnt  in  a 
lump  of  dough. 

"Pardon,  monsieur?"  he  said  politely. 

"Can't  you  even  pick  a  Frenchman,  Ben?"  sneered 
one  of  the  men  opposite — a  square,  smoothly  shaven 
man  with  slow,  heavy-lidded  eyes  of  a  greenish  tinge. 

The  fox-faced  man  said: 

"He  had  me  fooled,  too,  Eddie.  If  Ben  Stull  didn't 
get  his  number  it  don't  surprise  me  none,  becuz  he  was 

264 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


on  the  damn  boat  I  crossed  in,  and  I  certainly  picked 
him  for  New  York." 

"Aw,"  said  the  pasty-faced  little  man  referred  to  as 
Ben  Stull,  "Eddie  knows  it  all.  He  never  makes  no 
breaks,  of  course.  You  make  'em,  Doc,  but  he  doesn't. 
That's  why  me  and  him  and  you  is  travelling  here — 
this  minute — because  the  great  Eddie  Brandes  never 
makes  no  breaks 

"Go  on  and  smoke  and  shut  up,"  said  Brandes,  with 
a  slow,  sidewise  glance  at  Neeland,  whose  eyes  remained 
fastened  on  the  pages  of  "Les  Bizarettes,"  but  whose 
ears  were  now  very  wide  open. 

"Smoke,"  repeated  Stull,  "when  this  here  Frenchman 
may  make  a  holler?" 

"Wait  till  I  ask  him,"  said  the  man  addressed  as 
Doc,  with  dignity.  And  to  Neeland : 

"Pardong,  musseer,  permit  ty  vous  moi  de  fumy  ung 
cigar?" 

"Mais    comment,    done,    monsieur!      Je    vous    en 
•  » 

"He  says  politely,"  translated  Doc,  "that  we  can 
smoke  and  be  damned  to  us." 

They  lighted  three  obese  cigars ;  Neeland,  his  eyes  on 
his  page,  listened  attentively  and  stole  a  glance  at  the 
man  they  called  Brandes. 

So  this  was  the  scoundrel  who  had  attempted  to  de 
ceive  the  young  girl  who  had  come  to  him  that  night  in 
his  studio,  bewildered  with  what  she  believed  to  be  her 
hopeless  disgrace! 

This  was  the  man — this  short,  square,  round-faced 
individual  with  his  minutely  shaven  face  and  slow  green 
ish  eyes,  and  his  hair  combed  back  and  still  reeking  with 
perfumed  tonic — this  shiny,  scented,  and  overgroomed 
sport  with  rings  on  his  fat,  blunt  fingers  and  the  silk 

265 


THE  DARK  STAR 


laces  on  his  tan  oxfords  as  fastidiously  tied  as  though 
a  valet  had  done  it ! 

Ben  Stull  began  to  speak;  and  presently  Neeland 
discovered  that  the  fox-faced  man's  name  was  Doc  Cur- 
foot;  that  he  had  just  arrived  from  London  on  receipt 
of  a  telegram  from  them;  and  that  they  themselves 
had  landed  the  night  before  from  a  transatlantic  liner 
to  await  him  here. 

Doc  Curfoot  checked  the  conversation,  which  was 
becoming  general  now,  saying  that  they'd  better  be  very 
sure  that  the  man  opposite  understood  no  English  be 
fore  they  became  careless. 

"Musseer,"  he  added  suavely  to  Neeland,  who  looked 
up  with  a  polite  smile,  "parly  voo  Anglay?" 

"Je  parle  Franfais,  monsieur." 

"I  get  him,"  said  Stull,  sourly.  "I  knew  it  anyway. 
He's  got  the  sissy  manners  of  a  Frenchy,  even  if  he 
don't  look  the  part.  No  white  man  tips  his  lid  to  no 
body  except  a  swell  skirt." 

"I  seen  two  dudes  do  it  to  each  other  on  Fifth 
Avenue,"  remarked  Curfoot,  and  spat  from  the  win 
dow. 

Brandes,  imperturbable,  rolled  his  cigar  into  the  cor 
ner  of  his  mouth  and  screwed  his  greenish  eyes  to  nar 
row  slits. 

"You  got  our  wire,  Doc?" 

"Why  am  I  here  if  I  didn't !" 

"Sure.     Have  an  easy  passage?" 

Doc  Curfoot's  foxy  visage  still  wore  traces  of  the 
greenish  pallor;  he  looked  pityingly  at  Brandes — self- 
pityingly : 

"Say,  Eddie,  that  was  the  worst  I  ever  seen.  A 
freight  boat,  too.  God !  I  was  that  sick  I  hoped  she'd 
turn  turtle !  And  nab  it  from  me ;  if  you  hadn't  wired 

266 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


me  S  O  S,  I'd  have  waited  over  for  the  steamer  train 
and  the  regular  boat !" 

"Well,  it's  S  O  S  all  right,  Doc.  I  got  a  cable 
from  Quint  this  morning  saying  our  place  in  Paris  is 
ready,  and  we're  to  be  there  and  open  up  tonight — 

"What  place?"  demanded  Curfoot. 

"Sure,  I  forgot.  You  don't  know  anything  yet,  do 
you?" 

"Eddie,"  interrupted  Stull,  "let  me  do  the  talking 
this  time,  if  you  please." 

And,  to  Curfoot: 

"Listen,  Doc.  We  was  up  against  it.  You  heard. 
Every  little  thing  has  went  wrong  since  Eddie  done 
what  he  done — every  damn  thing!  Look  what's  hap 
pened  since  Maxy  Venem  got  sore  and  he  and  Minna 
started  out  to  get  him!  Morris  Stein  takes  away  the 
Silhouette  Theatre  from  us  and  we  can't  get  no  time 
for  'Lilith'  on  Broadway.  We  go  on  the  road  and  bust. 
All  our  Saratoga  winnings  goes,  also  what  we  got  in 
vested  with  Parson  Smawley  when  the  bulls  pulled 
Quint's !" 

"Ah,  f'r  the  lov'  o'  Mike!"  began  Brandes.  "Can 
that  stuff!" 

"All  right,  Eddie.  I'm  tellin'  Doc,  that's  all.  I  ain't 
aiming  to  be  no  crape-hanger ;  I  only  want  you  both  to 
listen  to  me  this  time.  If  youd  listened  to  me  before, 
we'd  have  been  in  Saratoga  today  in  our  own  machines. 
But  no ;  you  done  what  you  done — God !  Did  anyone 
ever  hear  of  such  a  thing! — taking  chances  with  that 
little  rube  from  Brookhollow — that  freckled-faced  mill- 
hand — that  yap-skirt!  And  Minna  and  Max  having 
you  watched  all  the  time !  You  big  boob !  No — don't 
interrupt!  Listen  to  me!  Where  are  you  now?  You 
had  good  money ;  you  had  a  theaytre,  you  had  backing ! 

267 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Quint  was  doing  elegant ;  Doc  and  Parson  and  you  and 
me  had  it  all  our  way  and  comin'  faster  every  day. 
Wait,  I  tell  you !  This  ain't  a  autopsy.  This  is  busi 
ness.  I'm  tellin'  you  two  guys  all  this  becuz  I  want  you 
to  realise  that  what  Eddie  done  was  against  my  advice. 
Come  on,  now;  wasn't  it?" 

"It  sure  was,"  admitted  Curfoot,  removing  his  cigar 
from  his  lean,  pointed  visage  of  a  greyhound,  and 
squinting  thoughtfully  at  the  smoke  eddying  in  the 
draught  from  the  open  window. 

"Am  I  right,  Eddie?"  demanded  Stull,  fixing  his 
black,  smeary  eyes  on  Brandes. 

"Well,  go  on,"  returned  the  latter  between  thin  lips 
that  scarcely  moved. 

"All  right,  then.  Here's  the  situation,  Doc.  We're 
broke.  If  Quint  hadn't  staked  us  to  this  here  new  game 
we're  playin',  where'd  we  be,  I  ask  you? 

"We  got  no  income  now.  Quint's  is  shut  up ;  Maxy 
Venem  and  Minna  Minti  fixed  us  at  Saratoga  so  we 
can't  go  back  there  for  a  while.  They  won't  let  us 
touch  a  card  on  the  liners.  Every  pug  is  leery  of  us 
since  Eddie  flimflammed  that  Battling  Smoke;  and  I 
told  you  he'd  holler,  too!  Didn't  I?"  turning  on 
Brandes,  who  merely  let  his  slow  eyes  rest  on  him 
without  replying. 

"Go  on,  Ben,"  said  Curfoot. 

"I'm  going  on.     We  guys  gotta  do  something " 

"We  ought  to  have  fixed  Max  Venem,"  said  Curfoot 
coolly. 

There  was  a  silence ;  all  three  men  glanced  stealthily 
at  Neeland,  who  quietly  turned  the  page  of  his  book  as 
though  absorbed  in  his  story. 

"That  squealer,  Max,"  continued  Curfoot  with  pla 
cid  ferocity  blazing  in  his  eyes,  "ought  to  have  been  put 

268 


bJD 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


away.  Quint  and  Parson  wanted  us  to  have  it  done. 
Was  it  any  stunt  to  get  that  dirty  little  shyster  in 
some  roadhouse  last  May?" 

Brandes   said: 

"I'm  not  mixing  with  any  gunmen  after  the  Rosen- 
thai  business." 

"Becuz  a  lot  of  squealers  done  a  amateur  job  like 
that,  does  it  say  that  a  honest  job  can't  be  pulled?" 
demanded  Curfoot.  "Did  Quint  and  me  ask  you  to  go 
to  Dopey  or  Clabber  or  Pete  the  Wop,  or  any  of  them 
cheap  gangsters?" 

"Ah,  can  the  gun-stuff,"  said  Brandes.  "I'm  not  for 
it.  It's  punk." 

"What's  punk?" 

"Gun-play." 

"Didn't  you  pull  a  pop  on  Maxy  Venem  the  night 
him  and  Hyman  Adams  and  Minna  beat  you  up  in  front 
of  the  Knickerbocker?" 

"Eddie  was  stalling,"  interrupted  Stull,  as  Brandes' 
face  turned  a  dull  beef-red.  "You  talk  like  a  bad  actor, 
Doc.  There's  other  ways  of  getting  Max  in  wrong. 
Guns  ain't  what  they  was  once.  Gun-play  is  old  stuff. 
But  listen,  now.  Quint  has  staked  us  and  we  gotta 
make  good.  And  this  is  a  big  thing,  though  it  looks 
like  it  was  out  of  our  line." 

"Go  on;  what's  the  idea?"  inquired  Curfoot,  inter 
ested. 

Brandes,  the  dull  red  still  staining  his  heavy  face, 
watched  the  flying  landscape  from  the  open  window. 

Stull  leaned  forward ;  Curfoot  bent  his  lean,  narrow 
head  nearer ;  Neeland,  staring  fixedly  at  his  open  book, 
pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Now,"  said  Stull  in  a  low  voice,  "I'll  tell  you  guys 
all  Eddie  and  I  know  about  this  here  business  of  Cap- 

269 


THE  DARK  STAR 


tain  Quint's.  It's  like  this,  Doc:  Some  big  feller  comes 
to  Quint  after  they  close  him  up — he  won't  tell  who — 
and  puts  up  this  here  proposition:  Quint  is  to  open  a 
elegant  place  in  Paris  on  the  Q.  T.  In  fact,  it's  ready 
now.  There'll  be  all  the  backing  Quint  needs.  He's 
to  send  over  three  men  he  can  trust — three  men  who 
can  shoot  at  a  pinch!  He  picks  us  three  and  stakes  us. 
Get  me?" 

Doc  nodded. 

Brandes  said  in  his  narrow-eyed,  sleepy  way: 

"There  was  a  time  when  they  called  us  gunmen — 
Ben  and  me.  But,  so  help  me  God,  Doc,  we  never  did 
any  work  like  that  ourselves.  We  never  fired  a  shot  to 
croak  any  living  guy.  Did  we,  Ben?" 

"All  right,"  said  Stull  impatiently.  And,  to  Cur- 
foot:  "Eddie  and  I  know  what  we're  to  do.  If  it's  on 
the  cards  that  we  shoot — well,  then,  we'll  shoot.  The 
place  is  to  be  small,  select,  private,  and  first  class.  Doc, 
you  act  as  capper.  You  deal,  too.  Eddie  sets  'em  up. 
I  deal  or  spin.  All  right.  We  three  guys  attend  to 
anything  American  that  blows  our  way.  Get  that  ?" 

Curfoot  nodded. 

"Then  for  the  foreigners,  there's  to  be  a  guy  called 
Karl  Breslau." 

Neeland  managed  to  repress  a  start,  but  the  blood 
tingled  in  his  cheeks,  and  he  turned  his  head  a  trifle  as 
though  seeking  better  light  on  the  open  pages  in  his 
hands. 

"This  here  man  Breslau,"  continued  Stull,  "speaks 
all  kinds  of  languages.  He  is  to  have  two  friends  with 
him,  a  fellow  named  Kestner  and  one  called  Weishelm. 
They  trim  the  foreigners,  they  do ;  and " 

"Well,  I  don't  see  nothing  new  about  this "  began 

Curfoot;  but  Stull  interrupted: 

270 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


"Wait,  can't  you !  This  ain't  the  usual.  We  run  a 
place  for  Quint.  The  place  is  like  Quint's.  We  trim 
guys  same  as  he  does — or  did.  But  there's  more  to  it." 

He  let  his  eyes  rest  on  Neeland,  obliquely,  for  a  full 
minute.  The  others  watched  him,  too.  Presently  the 
young  man  cut  another  page  of  his  book  with  his  pen- 
knife  and  turned  it  with  eager  impatience,  as  though 
the  story  absorbed  him. 

"Don't  worry  about  Frenchy,"  murmured  Brandes 
with  a  shrug.  "Go  ahead,  Ben." 

Stull  laid  one  hand  on  Curfoot's  shoulder,  drawing 
that  gentleman  a  trifle  nearer  and  sinking  his  voice : 

"Here's  the  new  stuff,  Doc,"  he  said.  "And  it's 
brand  new  to  us,  too.  There's  big  money  into  it.  Quint 
swore  we'd  get  ours*  And  as  we  was  on  our  uppers  we 
went  in.  It's  like  this:  We  lay  for  Americans  from 
the  Embassy  or  from  any  of  the  Consulates.  They  are 
our  special  game.  It  ain't  so  much  that  we  trim  them ; 
we  also  get  next  to  them;  we  make  'em  talk  right  out 
in  church.  Any  political  dope  they  have  we  try  to  get. 
We  get  it  any  way  we  can.  If  they'll  accelerate  we  ac 
celerate  'em ;  if  not,  we  dope  'em  and  take  their  papers. 
The  main  idee  is  to  get  a  holt  on  'em ! 

"That's  what  Quint  wants;  that's  what  he's  payin' 
for  and  gettin'  paid  for — inside  information  from  the 
Embassy  and  Consulates " 

"What  does  Quint  want  of  that?"  demanded  Cur- 
foot,  astonished. 

"How  do  I  know?  Blackmail?  Graft?  I  can't  call 
the  dope.  But  listen  here !  Don't  forget  that  it  ain't 
Quint  who  wants  it.  It's  the  big  feller  behind  him 
who's  backin'  him.  It's  some  swell  guy  higher  up  who's 
payin'  Quint.  And  Quint,  he  pays  us.  So  where's  the 
squeal  coming?" 

271 


THE  DARK  STAR 


'Yes,  but- 


"Where's  the  holler?"  insisted  Stull. 

"I  ain't  hollerin',  am  I?  Only  this  here  is  new  stuff 
to  me " 

"Listen,  Doc.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  all  these 
here  European  kings  is  settin'  watchin'  one  another  like 
toms  in  a  back  alley.  I  think  that  some  foreign  politi 
cal  high-upper  wants  dope  on  what  our  people  are  find 
ing  out  over  here.  Like  this,  he  says  to  himself:  'I 
hear  this  Kink  is  building  ten  sooper  ferry  boats.  If 
that's  right,  I  oughta  know.  And  I  hear  that  the  Queen 
of  Marmora  has  ordered  a  million  new  nifty  fifty-shot 
bean-shooters  for  the  boy  scouts !  That  is  indeed  seri 
ous  news!'  So  he  goes  to  his  broker,  who  goes  to  a 
big  feller,  who  goes  to  Quint,  who  goes  to  us.  Flag 
me?" 

"Sure." 

"That's  all.  There's  nothing  to  it,  Doc.  Says  Quint 
to  us :  'Trim  a  few  guys  for  me  and  get  their  letters,' 
says  Quint ;  'and  there's  somethin5  in  it  for  me  and  you !' 
And  that's  the  new  stuff,  Doc." 

"You  mean  we're  spies?" 

"Spies?    I  don't  know.    We're  on  a  salary.    We  get 

a  big  bonus  for  every  letter  we  find  on  the  carpet 

He  winked  at  Curfoot  and  relighted  his  cigar. 

"Say,"  said  the  latter,  "it's  like  a  creeping  joint. 
It's  a  panel  game,  Ben ' 

"It's  politics  like  they  play  'em  in  Albany,  only  it's 
ambassadors  and  kinks  we  trim,  not  corporations." 

"We  can't  do  it!  What  the  hell  do  we  know  about 
kinks  and  attaches?" 

"No ;  Weishelm,  Breslau  and  Kestner  do  that.  We 
lay  for  the  attaches  or  spin  or  deal  or  act  handy  at  the 
bar  and  buffet  with  homesick  Americans.  No ;  the  fine 

272 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


work — the  high-up  stuff,  is  done  by  Breslau  and  Weis- 
helm.  And  I  guess  there's  some  fancy  skirts  somewhere 
in  the  game.  But  they're  silent  partners ;  and  anyway 
Weishelm  manages  that  part." 

Curfoot,  one  lank  knee  over  the  other,  swung  his 
foot  thoughtfully  to  and  fro,  his  ratty  eyes  lost  in 
dreamy  revery.  Brandes  tossed  his  half-consumed  cigar 
out  of  the  open  window  and  set  fire  to  another.  StuJl 
waited  for  Curfoot  to  make  up  his  mind.  After  several 
minutes  the  latter  looked  up  from  his  cunning  abstrac 
tion: 

"Well,  Ben,  put  it  any  way  you  like,  but  we're  just 
plain  political  spies.  And  what  the  hell  do  they  hand 
us  over  here  if  we're  pinched?" 

"I  don't  know.    What  of  it?" 

"Nothing.  If  there's  good  money  in  it,  I'll  take  a 
chance." 

"There  is.  Quint  backs  us.  When  we  get  'em  com 
ing " 

"Ah,"  said  Doc  with  a  wry  face,  "that's  all  right  for 
the  cards  or  the  wheel.  But  this  pocket  picking 

"Say;  that  ain't  what  I  mean.  It's  like  this:  Young 
Fitznoodle  of  the  Embassy  staff  gets  soused  and  starts 
out  lookin'  for  a  quiet  game.  We  furnish  the  game. 
We  don't  go  through  his  pockets  ;  we  just  pick  up  what 
ever  falls  out  and  take  shorthand  copies.  Then  back 
go  the  letters  into  Fitznoodle's  pocket 

"Yes.     Who  reads  'em  first?" 

"Breslau.     Or  some  skirt,  maybe." 

"What's  Breslau?" 

"Search  me.  He's  a  Dutchman  or  a  Rooshian  or 
some  sort  of  Dodo.  What  do  you  care?" 

"I  don't.  All  right,  Ben.  You've  got  to  show  me; 
that's  all." 

273 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Show  you  what?" 

"Spot  cash!" 

"You're  in  when  you  handle  it?" 

"If  you  show  me  real  money — yes." 

"You're  on.  I'll  cash  a  cheque  of  Quint's  for  you  at 
Monroe's  soon  as  we  hit  the  asphalt !  And  when  you 
finish  counting  out  your  gold  nickels  put  'em  in  your 
pants  and  play  the  game!  Is  that  right?" 

"Yes." 

They  exchanged  a  wary  handshake;  then,  one  after 
another,  they  leaned  back  in  their  seats  with  the  air 
of  honest  men  who  had  done  their  day's  work. 

Curfoot  blinked  at  Brandes,  at  his  excessively 
groomed  person,  at  his  rings. 

"You  look  prosperous,  Eddie." 

"It's  his  business  to,"  remarked  Stull. 

Brandes  yawned: 

"It  would  be  a  raw  deal  if  there's  a  war  over  here," 
he  said  listlessly. 

"Ah,"  said  Curfoot,  "there  won't  be  none." 

"Why?" 

"The  Jews  and  bankers  won't  let  these  kinks  mix 
it." 

"That's  right,  too,"  nodded  Brandes. 

But  Stull  said  nothing  and  his  sour,  pasty  visage 
turned  sourer.  It  was  the  one  possibility  that  disturbed 
him — the  only  fly  in  the  amber — the  only  mote  that 
troubled  his  clairvoyance.  Also,  he  was  the  only  man 
among  the  three  who  didn't  think  a  thing  was  certain  to 
happen  merely  because  he  wanted  it  to  happen. 

There  was  another  matter,  too,  which  troubled  him. 
Brandes  was  unreliable.  And  who  but  little  Stull  should 
know  how  unreliable? 

For  Brandes  had  always  been  that.  And  now  Stull 
274 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


knew  him  to  be  more  than  that — knew  him  to  be  treach 
erous. 

Whatever  in  Brandes  had  been  decent,  or  had,  blindly 
perhaps,  aspired  toward  decency,  was  now  in  abeyance. 
Something  within  him  had  gone  to  smash  since  Minna 
Minti  had  struck  him  that  night  in  the  frightened 
presence  of  Rue  Carew. 

And  from  that  night,  when  he  had  lost  the  only 
woman  who  had  ever  stirred  in  him  the  faintest  aspi 
ration  to  better  things,  the  man  had  gradually 
changed.  Whatever  in  his  nature  had  been  unreliable 
became  treacherous ;  his  stolidity  became  sullenness.  A 
slow  ferocity  burned  within  him ;  embers  of  a  rage  which 
no  brooding  ever  quenched  slumbered  red  in  his  brain 
until  his  endless  meditation  became  a  monomania.  And 
his  monomania  was  the  ruin  of  this  woman  who  had 
taken  from  him  in  the  very  moment  of  consummation 
all  that  he  had  ever  really  loved  in  the  world — a  thin, 
awkward,  freckled,  red-haired  country  girl,  in  whom, 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  all  his  life,  he  saw  the 
vague  and  phantom  promise  of  that  trinity  which  he 
had  never  known — a  wife,  a  child,  and  a  home. 

He  sat  there  by  the  car  window  glaring  out  of  his 
dull  green  eyes  at  the  pleasant  countryside,  his  thin  lips 
tightening  and  relaxing  on  his  cigar. 

Curfoot,  still  pondering  over  the  "new  stuff"  offered 
him,  brooded  silently  in  his  corner,  watching  the  others 
out  of  his  tiny,  bright  eyes. 

"Do  anything  in  London?"  inquired  Stull. 

"No." 

"Who  was  you  working  for?" 

"A  jock  and  a  swell  skirt.  But  Scotland  Yard  got 
next  and  chased  the  main  guy  over  the  water." 

"What  was  your  lay?" 

275 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Same  thing.  I  dealt  for  the  jock  and  the  skirt 
trimmed  the  squabs." 

"Anybody  holler?" 

"Aw — the  kind  we  squeezed  was  too  high  up  to  hol 
ler.  Them  young  lords  take  their  medicine  like  they 
wanted  it.  They  ain't  like  the  home  bunch  that  is 
named  after  swell  hotels." 

After  a  silence  he  looked  up  at  Brandes: 

"What  ever  become  of  Minna  Minti?"  he  asked. 

Brandes'  heavy  features  remained  stolid. 

"She  got  her  divorce,  didn't  she?"  insisted  Curfoot. 

"Yes." 

"Alimony?" 

"No.    She  didn't  ask  any." 

"How   about  Venem?" 

Brandes  remained  silent,  but  Stull  said: 

"I  guess  she  chucked  him.  She  wouldn't  stand  for 
that  snake.  I  got  to  hand  it  to  her ;  she  ain't  that 
kind." 

"What  kind  is  she?" 

"I  tell  you  I  got  to  hand  it  to  her.  I  can't  complain 
of  her.  She  acted  white  all  right  until  Venem  stirred 
her  up.  Eddie's  got  himself  to  blame ;  he  got  in  wrong 
and  Venem  had  him  followed  and  showed  him  up  to 
Minna." 

"You  got  tired  of  her,  didn't  you?"  said  Curfoot  to 
Brandes.  But  Stull  answered  for  him  again : 

"Like  any  man,  Eddie  needed  a  vacation  now  and 
then.  But  no  skirt  understands." 

Brandes   said   slowly: 

"I'll  live  to  fix  Minna  yet." 

"What  fixed  you,"  snapped  Stull,  "was  that  there 
Brookhollow  stuff— 

"Can  it!"  retorted  Brandes,  turning  a  deep  red. 
276 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


"Aw — don't  hand  me  the  true-love  stuff,  Eddie!  If 
you'd  meant  it  with  that  little  haymaker  you'd  have 
respected  her " 

Brandes'  large  face  became  crimson  with  rage: 

"You  say  another  word  about  her  and  I'll  push  your 
block  off — you  little  dough- faced  kike!" 

Stull  shrugged  and  presently  whispered  to  Curfoot: 

"That's  the  play  he  always  makes.  I've  waited  two 
years,  but  he  won't  ring  down  on  the  love  stuff.  I  guess 
he  was  hit  hard  that  trip.  It  took  a  little  red-headed, 
freckled  country  girl  to  stop  him.  But  it  was  comin' 
to  Eddie  Brandes,  and  it  certainly  looks  like  it  was 
there  to  stay  a  while." 

"He's  still  stuck  on  her?" 

"I  guess  she's  still  the  fly  paper,"  nodded  Stull. 

Suddenly  Brandes  turned  on  Stull  such  a  look  of  con 
centrated  hatred  that  the  little  gambler's  pallid  fea 
tures  stiffened  with  surprise : 

"Ben,"  said  Brandes  in  a  low  voice,  which  was  too  in 
distinct  for  Neeland  to  catch,  "I'll  tell  you  something 
now  that  you  don't  know.  I  saw  Quint  alone ;  I  talked 
with  him.  Do  you  know  who  is  handling  the  big  stuff 
in  this  deal?" 

"Who?"  asked  Stull,  amazed. 

"The  Turkish  Embassy  in  Paris.  And  do  you  know 
who  plays  the  fine  Italian  hand  for  that  bunch  of 
Turks?" 

"No." 

"Minna !" 

"You're  crazy !" 

Brandes  took  no  notice,  but  went  on  with  a  sort  of 
hushed  ferocity  that  silenced  both  Stull  and  Curfoot: 

"That's  why  I  went  in.  To  get  Minna.  And  I'll  get 
her  if  it  costs  every  cent  I've  got  or  ever  hope  to  get. 

277 


THE  DARK  STAR 


That's  why  I'm  in  this  deal ;  that's  why  I  came ;  that's 
why  I'm  here  telling  you  this.  I'm  in  it  to  get  Minna, 
not  for  the  money,  not  for  anything  in  all  God's  world 
except  to  get  the  woman  who  has*  done  what  Minna  did 
to  me." 

Neeland  listened  in  vain  to  the  murmuring  voice ;  he 
could  not  catch  a  word. 

Stull  whispered: 

"Aw,  fr  God's  sake,  Eddie,  that  ain't  the  game.  Do 
you  want  to  double-cross  Quint?" 

"I  have  double-crossed  him." 

"What!    Do  you  mean  to  sell  him  out?" 

"I  have  sold  him  out." 

"Jesus!     Who  to?" 

"To  the  British  Secret  Service.  And  there's  to  be 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  it,  Doc,  for  you  and  me 
to  divide.  And  fifty  thousand  more  when  we  put  the 
French  bulls  on  to  Minna  and  Breslau.  Now,  how  does 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  against  five 
thousand  apiece  strike  you  two  poor,  cheap  guys?" 

But  the  magnitude  of  Brandes'  treachery  and  the 
splendour  of  the  deal  left  the  two  gamblers  stunned. 

Only  by  their  expressions  could  Neeland  judge  that 
they  were  discussing  matters  of  vital  importance  to 
themselves  and  probably  to  him.  He  listened;  he  could 
not  hear  what  they  were  whispering.  And  only  at  in 
tervals  he  dared  glance  over  his  book  in  their  direc 
tion.  • 

"Well,"  said  Brandes  under  his  breath,  "go  on.  Spit 
it  out.  What's  the  squeal?" 

"My  God !"  whispered  Stull.     "Quint  will  kill  you." 

Brandes  laughed  unpleasantly: 

"Not  me,  Ben.  I've  got  that  geezer  where  I  want  him 
on  a  dirty  deal  he  pulled  off  with  the  police." 

278 


THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 


Curfoot  turned  his  pointed  muzzle  toward  the  win 
dow  and  sneered  at  the  sunny  landscape. 

A  few  minutes  later,  far  across  the  rolling  plain  set 
with  villas  and  farms,  and  green  with  hedgerows,  gar 
dens,  bouquets  of  trees  and  cultivated  fields,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  fairy  structure  outlined  against  the  sky. 
Turning  to  Brandes : 

"There's  the  Eiffel  Tower,"  remarked  Curfoot. 
"Where  are  we  stopping,  Eddie?" 

"Caffy  des  Bulgars." 

"Where's  that?" 

"It's  where  we  go  to  work — Roo  Vilna." 

Stull's  smile  was  ghastly,  but  Curfoot  winked  at 
Brandes. 

Neeland  listened,  his  eyes  following  the  printed  pages 
of  his  book. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
CUP  AND  LIP 

THROUGH  the  crowded  Paris  terminal  Neeland  pushed 
his  way,  carrying  the  olive-wood  box  in  his  hand  an'd 
keeping  an  eye  on  his  porter,  who  preceded  him  carry 
ing  the  remainder  of  his  luggage  and  repeating: 

"Place,  s'il  vous  plait,  m'sieu\  dames!" 

To  Neeland  it  was  like  a  homecoming  after  many 
years'  exile;  the  subtle  but  perfectly  specific  odour  of 
Paris  assailed  his  nostrils  once  again ;  the  rapid,  em 
phatic,  lively  language  of  France  sounded  once  more 
delightfully  in  his  eager  ears ;  vivacity  and  intelligence 
sparkled  in  every  eye  that  met  his  own.  It  was  a  throng 
of  rapid  movement,  of  animated  speech,  of  gesticulation. 
And,  as  it  was  in  the  beginning  when  he  first  arrived 
there  as  a  student,  he  fell  in  love  with  it  at  first  sight 
and  contact. 

All  around  him  moved  porters,  passengers,  railroad 
officials;  the  red  kepis  of  soldiers  dotted  the  crowd;  a 
priest  or  two  in  shovel  hat  and  buckled  shoes,  a  Sister 
of  Charity  from  the  Rue  de  Bac  lent  graver  accents  to 
the  throng;  and  everywhere  were  the  pretty  bourgeois 
women  of  the  capital  gathered  to  welcome  relatives  or 
friends,  or  themselves  starting  on  some  brief  summer 
voyage  so  dear  to  those  who  seldom  find  it  in  their 
hearts  to  leave  Paris  for  longer  than  a  fortnight  at  a 
time. 

As  he  pressed  onward  he  witnessed  characteristic  re 
unions  between  voyagers  and  friends  who  awaited  them 

280 


CUP  AND  LIP 


— animated,  cordial,  gay  scenes  complicated  by  many 
embraces  on  both  cheeks. 

And,  of  a  sudden,  he  noticed  the  prettiest  girl  he  had 
ever  seen  in  his  life.  She  was  in  white,  with  a  black 
straw  hat,  and  her  face  and  figure  were  lovely  beyond 
words.  Evidently  she  was  awaiting  friends;  there  was 
a  charming  expectancy  on  her  fresh  young  face,  a  slight 
forward  inclination  of  her  body,  as  though  expectancy 
and  happy  impatience  alone  controlled  her. 

Her  beauty  almost  took  his  breath  away. 

"Lord!"  he  thought  to  himself.  "If  such  a  girl  as 
that  ever  stood  waiting  for  me : 

At  the  same  moment  her  golden-grey  eyes,  sweeping 
the  passing  crowd,  met  his;  a  sharp  thrill  of  amaze 
ment  passed  through  him  as  she  held  out  both  gloved 
hands  with  a  soft  exclamation  of  recognition: 

"Jim!     Jim  Neeland!" 

"Rue  Carew!"  He  could  scarcely  credit  his  eye 
sight,  where  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  holding  both  her 
little  hands  in  one  of  his. 

No,  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  disguise  his  aston 
ishment.  He  looked  into  the  face  of  this  tall  young 
girl,  searched  it  for  familiar  features,  recognised  a 
lovely  paraphrase  of  the  freckled  face  and  thin  figure 
he  remembered,  and  remained  dumb  before  this  radiant 
reincarnation  of  that  other  unhappy,  shabby,  and 
meagre  child  he  had  known  two  years  ago. 

Ruhannah,  laughing  and  flushed,  withdrew  her  hands. 

"Have  I  changed?  You  haven't.  And  I  always 
thought  you  the  most  wonderful  and  ornamental  young 
man  on  this  planet.  I  knew  you  at  once,  Jim  Neeland. 
Would  you  have  passed  without  recognising  me?" 

"Perhaps     I     wouldn't    have    passed     after     seeing 

you " 

281 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Jim  Neeland!  What  a  remark!"  She  laughed. 
"Anyway,  it's  nice  to  believe  myself  attractive  enough 
to  be  noticed.  And  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  Na'ia  is 
here,  somewhere,  watching  for  you" — turning  her 
pretty,  eager  head  to  search  for  the  Princess  Mist- 
chenka.  "Oh,  there  she  is !  She  doesn't  see  us " 

They  made  their  way  between  the  passing  ranks  of 
passengers  and  porters ;  the  Princess  caught  sight  of 
them,  came  hastily  toward  them. 

"Jim  !  It's  nice  to  see  you.  Thank  you  for  coming ! 
So  you  found  him,  Rue?  How  are  you,  Jim?  And 
where  is  the  olive-wood  box?" 

"I'm  well,  and  there's  that  devilish  box!"  he  replied, 
laughing  and  lifting  it  in  his  hand  to  exhibit  it.  "Nai'a, 
the  next  time  you  want  it,  send  an  escort  of  artillery 
and  two  battleships !" 

"Did  you  have  trouble?" 

"Trouble?  I  had  the  time  of  my  life.  No  moving 
picture  can  ever  again  excite  me;  no  best  seller.  I've 
been  both  since  I  had  your  cable  to  get  this  box  and 
bring  it  to  you." 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  the  Princess  continued 
to  regard  him  very  seriously,  and  Rue  Carew's  smile 
came  and  waned  like  sunlight  in  a  wood,  for  she  was 
not  quite  sure  whether  he  had  really  encountered  any 
dangers  on  this  mission  which  he  had  fulfilled  so  well. 

"Our  car  is  waiting  outside,"  said  the  Princess. 
"Where  is  your  porter,  Jim?" 

Neeland  glanced  about  him,  discovered  the  porter, 
made  a  sign  for  him  to  follow,  and  they  moved  together 
toward  the  entrance  to  the  huge  terminal. 

"I  haven't  decided  where  to  stop  yet,"  began  Neeland, 
but  the  Princess  checked  him  with  a  pretty  gesture : 

"You  stop  with  us,  Jim." 

282 


^^^Bjjh 


1 


"Trouble?     I  had  the  time  of  my  life. 


CUP  AND  LIP 


"Thank  you  so  much,  but 

"Please.     Must  I  beg  of  you?" 

"Do  you  really  wish  it?" 

"Certainly,"  she  replied  absently,  glancing  about  her. 
She  added:  "I  don't  see  my  car.  I  don't  see  my  foot 
man.  I  told  him  to  wait  here.  Rue,  do  you  see  him 
anywhere  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  the  girl. 

"How  annoying!"  said  the  Princess.  "He's  a  new 
man.  My  own  footman  was  set  upon  and  almost  killed 
by  Apaches  a  week  ago.  So  I  had  to  find  a  substitute. 
How  stupid  of  him!  Where  on  earth  can  he  be  wait- 
ing?" 

They  traversed  the  court  of  the  terminal.  Many 
automobiles  were  parked  there  or  just  leaving;  liveried 
footmen  stood  awaiting  masters  and  mistresses;  but 
nowhere  was  the  car  of  the  Princess  Mistchenka  in 
sight. 

They  stood  there,  Neeland's  porter  behind  with  his 
suitcase  and  luggage,  not  knowing  whether  to  wait 
longer  or  summon  a  taxicab. 

"I  don't  understand,"  repeated  the  Princess  impa 
tiently.  "I  explained  very  carefully  what  I  desired. 
That  new  groom  is  stupid.  Caron,  my  chauffeur,  would 
never  have  made  a  mistake  unless  that  idiot  groom  mis 
understood  his  instructions." 

"Let  me  go  and  make  some  inquiries,"  said  Neeland. 
"Do  you  mind  waiting  here?  I'll  not  be  long — 

He  went  off,  carrying  the  olive-wood  box,  which  his 
grasp  never  quitted  now;  and  presently  the  Princess 
and  Ruhannah  saw  him  disappear  among  the  ranks  of 
automobiles  and  cabs. 

"I  don't  like  it,  Rue,"  repeated  the  Princess  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  neither  understand  nor  relish  this  situation." 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Have  you  any  idea " 

"Hush,  child  !  I  don't  know.  That  new  groom,  Ver- 
dier,  was  recommended  by  the  Russian  Embassy.  I 
don't  know  what  to  think  of  this." 

"It  can't  be  anything — queer,  can  it,  dear?"  asked 
Rue. 

"Anything  can  have  happened.  Nothing  is  likely  to 
have  occurred,  however — unless — unless  those  Apaches 
were " 

"Naia !" 

"It's  possible,  I  suppose.  They  may  have  attacked 
Picard  as  part  of  a  conspiracy.  The  Russian  Embassy 
may  have  been  deceived  in  Verdier.  All  this  may  be 
part  of  a  plan.  But — I  scarcely  believe  it.  .  .  .  All 
the  same,  I  dislike  to  take  a  taxicab 

She  caught  sight  of  Neeland  returning;  both  women 
moved  forward  to  meet  him. 

"I've  solved  the  mystery,"  he  said.  "Nai'a,  your  car 
was  run  into  outside  the  station  a  few  minutes  after 
you  left  it.  And  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  your  chauffeur 
was  badly  enough  hurt  to  require  an  ambulance." 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  learn  that?" 

"The  official  at  the  taxicab  control  told  me.  I  went 
to  him  because  that  is  where  one  is  likely  to  receive  in 
formation." 

"Caron  hurt!"  murmured  the  Princess.  "What  a 
shame!  Where  did  they  take  him,  Jim?" 

"To  the  Charite." 

"I'll  go  this  afternoon.  But  where  is  that  imbecile 
groom  of  mine?" 

"It  appears  that  he  and  a  policeman  went  to  a  garage 
on  the  repair  truck  that  took  your  car." 

"Was  he  arrested?" 

"I  believe  so." 

284 


CUP  AND  LIP 


"What  a  contretemps!"  exclaimed  the  Princess  Mist- 
chenka.  "We  shall  have  to  take  a  taxicab  after 
all!" 

"I've  ordered  one  from  the  control.  There  it  comes 
now,"  said  Neeland,  as  a  brand  new  taxicab,  which 
looked  like  a  private  car,  drew  up  at  the  curb,  and  a 
smiling  and  very  spick  and  span  chauffeur  saluted. 

Neeland's  porter  hoisted  trunk  and  suitcase  on  top; 
the  Princess  stepped  into  the  limousine,  followed  by 
Rue  and  Neeland ;  the  chauffeur  took  the  order,  started 
his  car,  wheeled  out  into  the  square,  circled  the  traffic 
policeman,  and  whizzed  away  into  the  depths  of  the 
most  beautiful  city  in  the  world. 

Neeland,  seated  with  his  back  to  the  driver,  laid  the 
olive-wood  box  on  his  knees,  unlocked  it,  drew  from  his 
breast  pocket  the  papers  he  carried ;  locked  them  in  the 
box  once  more,  and  looked  up  laughingly  at  the 
Princess  and  Ruhannah  as  he  placed  it  at  his  feet. 

"There  you  are !"  he  said.  "Thank  heaven  my  task 
and  your  affair  have  been  accomplished.  All  the  papers 
are  there — and,"  to  Ruhannah,  "that  pretty  gentleman 
you  call  the  Yellow  Devil  is  inside,  along  with  some 
assorted  firearms,  drawing  instruments,  and  photo 
graphs.  The  whole  business  is  here,  intact — and  so  am 
I — if  that  irrelevant  detail  should  interest  you." 

Rue  smiled  her  answer ;  the  Princess  scrutinised  him 
keenly: 

"Did  you  have  trouble,  Jim?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"Serious  trouble?" 

"I  tell  you  it  was  like  a  movie  in  five  reels.  Never 
before  did  I  believe  such  things  happened  outside  a 
Yonkers  studio.  But  they  do,  Nai'a.  And  I've  learned 
that  the  world  is  full  of  more  excitingly  melodramatic 

285 


THE  DARK  STAR 


possibilities  than  any  novel  or  scenario  ever  contained." 

"You're  not  serious,  of  course,"  began  Rue  Carew, 
watching  the  varying  expressions  on  his  animated  fea 
tures ;  but  the  Princess  Mistchenka  said,  unsmiling: 

"A  film  melodrama  is  a  crude  and  tawdry  thing  com 
pared  to  the  real  drama  so  many  of  us  play  in  every 
moment  of  our  lives." 

Neeland  said  to  Rue,  lightly: 

"That  is  true  as  far  as  I  have  been  concerned  with 
that  amazing  box.  It's  full  of  the  very  devil — of  that 
Yellow  Devil !  When  I  pick  it  up  now  I  seem  to  feel  a 
premonitory  tingling  all  over  me — not  entirely  disagree 
able,"  he  added  to  the  Princess,  "but  the  sort  of  half- 
scared  exhilaration  a  man  feels  who  takes  a  chance  and 
is  quite  sure  he'll  not  have  another  chance  if  he  loses. 
Do  you  understand  what  I  mean?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Princess  unsmilingly,  her  clear,  pleas 
ant  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

In  her  tranquil,  indefinite  expression  there  was  some 
thing  which  made  him  wonder  how  many  such  chances 
this  pretty  woman  had  taken  in  her  life  of  intellectual 
pleasure  and  bodily  ease. 

And  now  he  remembered  that  Use  Dumont  apparently 
knew  about  her — about  Ruhannah,  too.  And  Use  Du 
mont  was  the  agent  of  a  foreign  government. 

Was  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  patron  and  amateur 
of  the  arts,  another  such  agent?  If  not,  why  had  he 
taken  this  journey  for  her  with  this  box  of  papers? 

The  passage  of  the  Boulevard  was  slow;  at  every 
square  traffic  was  halted;  all  Paris  crowded  the  streets 
in  the  early  afternoon  sunshine,  and  the  taxicab  in 
which  they  sat  made  little  speed  until  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde  opened  out  and  the  great  Arc — a  tiny  phan 
tom  of  lavender  and  pearl — spanned  the  vanishing 

286 


CUP  AND  LIP 


point  of  a  fairy  perspective  between  parallel  and  end 
less  ramparts  of  tender  green. 

"There  was  a  lot  of  war  talk  on  the  Volhyma9n  said 
Neeland,  "but  I  haven't  heard  any  since  I  landed,  nor 
have  I  seen  a  paper.  I  suppose  the  Chancelleries  have 
come  to  some  agreement." 

."No,"  said  the  Princess. 

"You  don't  expect  trouble,  do  you?  I  mean  a  gen 
eral  European  free-for-all  fight?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jim." 

"Haven't  you,"  he  asked  blandly,  "any  means  of  ac 
quiring  inside  information?" 

She  did  not  even  pretend  to  evade  the  good-humoured 
malice  of  his  smile  and  question: 

"Yes ;  I  have  sources  of  private  information.  I  have 
learned  nothing,  so  far." 

He  looked  at  Rue,  but  the  smile  had  faded  from  her 
face  and  she  returned  his  questioning  gaze  gravely. 

"There  is  great  anxiety  in  Europe,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "and  the  tension  is  increasing.  When  we 
arrive  home  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  converse  more 
freely."  She  made  the  slightest  gesture  with  her  head 
toward  the  chauffeur — a  silent  reminder  and  a  caution. 

The  Princess  nodded  slightly: 

"One  never  knows,"  she  remarked.  "We  shall  have 
much  to  say  to  one  another  when  we  are  safely  home." 

But  Neeland  could  not  take  it  very  seriously  here  in 
the  sunshine,  with  two  pretty  women  facing  him — here 
speeding  up  the  Champs  Elysees  between  the  endless 
green  of  chestnut  trees  and  the  exquisite  silvery-grey 
facades  of  the  wealthy — with  motors  flashing  by  on 
every  side  and  the  cool,  leafy  alleys  thronged  with  chil 
dren  and  nurse-maids,  and  Monsieur  Guignol  squeaking 
and  drumming  in  his  red-curtained  box ! 

287 


THE  DARK  STAR 


How  could  a  young  man  believe  in  a  sequel  to  the 
almost  incredible  melodrama  in  which  he  had  figured, 
with  such  a  sane  and  delightful  setting,  here  in  the  fa 
miliar  company  of  two  charming  women  he  had  known? 

Besides,  all  Paris  and  her  police  were  at  his  elbow ; 
the  olive-wood  box  stood  between  his  knees ;  a  smartly 
respectable  taxi  and  its  driver  drove  them  with  the 
quiet  eclat  and  precision  of  a  private  employe;  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe  already  rose  splendidly  above  them,  and 
everything  that  had  once  been  familiar  and  reassuring 
and  delightful  lay  under  his  grateful  eyes  on  every 
side. 

And  now  the  taxicab  turned  into  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or 
— a  new  street  to  Neeland,  opened  since  his  student 
days,  and  only  one  square  long,  with  a  fountain  in  the 
middle  and  young  chestnut  trees  already  thickly 
crowned  with  foliage  lining  both  sides  of  the  street. 

But  although  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  was  a  new  street  to 
him,  Paris  construction  is  also  a  rapid  affair.  The 
street  was  faced  by  charming  private  houses  built  of 
grey  Caen  stone ;  the  fountain  with  its  golden  sundial, 
with  the  seated  figure — a  life-size  replica  of  Manship's 
original  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum — serenely  and 
beautifully  holding  its  place  between  the  Renaissance 
fa9ades  and  rows  of  slender  trees. 

Summer  had  not  yet  burned  foliage  or  flowers;  the 
freshness  of  spring  itself  seemed  still  to  reign  there. 

Three  blue-bloused  street-sweepers  with  hose  and 
broom  were  washing  the  asphalt  as  their  cab  slowed 
down,  sounding  its  horn  to  warn  them  out  of  the  way. 
And,  the  spouting  hose  still  in  their  hands,  the  street- 
cleaners  stepped  out  of  the  gutter  before  the  pretty 
private  hotel  of  Madame  la  Princesse. 

Already  a  butler  was  opening  the  grille;  already  the 

288 


CUP  AND  LIP 


chauffeur  had  swung  Neeland's  steamer  trunk  and  suit 
case  to  the  sidewalk ;  already  the  Princess  and  Rue  were 
advancing  to  the  house,  while  Neeland  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  for  the  fare. 

The  butler,  bowing,  relieved  him  of  the  olive-wood 
box.  At  the  same  instant  the  blue-bloused  man  with  the 
hose  turned  the  powerful  stream  of  water  directly  into 
the  butler's  face,  knocking  him  flat  on  the  sidewalk ;  and 
his  two  comrades  tripped  up  Neeland,  passed  a  red 
sash  over  his  head,  and  hurled  him  aside,  blinded,  half 
strangled,  staggering  at  random,  tearing  furiously  at 
the  wide  band  of  woollen  cloth  which  seemed  to  suffo 
cate  him. 

Already  the  chauffeur  had  tossed  the  olive-wood  box 
into  the  cab ;  the  three  blue-bloused  men  sprang  in  after 
it ;  the  chauffeur  slipped  into  his  seat,  threw  in  the 
clutch,  and,  driving  with  one  hand,  turned  a  pistol  on 
the  half  drowned  butler,  who  had  reeled  to  his  feet  and 
was  lurching  forward  to  seize  the  steering  wheel. 

The  taxicab,  gathering  speed,  was  already  turning 
the  corner  of  the  rue  de  la  Lune  when  Neeland  managed 
to  free  throat  and  eyes  from  the  swathe  of  woollen. 

The  butler,  checked  by  the  levelled  pistol,  stood  drip 
ping,  still  almost  blinded  by  the  force  of  the  water  from 
the  hose ;  but  he  had  plenty  of  pluck,  and  he  followed 
Neeland  on  a  run  to  the  corner  of  the  street. 

The  street  was  absolutely  empty,  except  for  the  spar 
rows,  and  the  big,  fat,  slate-coloured  pigeons  that  strut 
ted  and  coo-cooed  under  the  shadow  of  the  chestnut 
trees. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 

MAROTTE,  the  butler,  in  dry  clothes,  had  served 
luncheon — a  silent,  respectable,  self-respecting  man, 
calm  in  his  fury  at  the  incredible  outrage  perpetrated 
upon  his  person. 

And  now  luncheon  was  over ;  the  Princess  at  the  tele 
phone  in  her  boudoir ;  Rue  in  the  music-room  with  Nee- 
land,  still  excited,  anxious,  confused. 

Astonishment,  mortification,  anger,  had  left  Neeland 
silent;  and  the  convention  known  as  luncheon  had  not 
appealed  to  him. 

But  very  little  was  said  during  that  formality;  and 
in  the  silence  the  serious  nature  of  the  episode  which  so 
suddenly  had  deprived  the  Princess  of  the  olive-wood 
box  and  the  papers  it  contained  impressed  Neeland 
more  and  more  deeply. 

The  utter  unexpectedness  of  the  outrage — the  help 
less  figure  he  had  cut — infuriated  him.  And  the  more 
he  reflected  the  madder  he  grew  when  he  realised  that 
all  he  had  gone  through  meant  nothing  now — that  every 
effort  had  been  sterile,  every  hour  wasted,  every  step 
he  had  taken  from  Brookhollow  to  Paris — to  the  very 
doorstep  where  his  duty  ended — had  been  taken  in 
vain. 

It  seemed  to  him  in  his  anger  and  humiliation  that 
never  had  any  man  been  so  derided,  so  heartlessly 
mocked  by  the  gods. 

And  now,  as  he  sat  there  behind  lowered  blinds  in  the 
290 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


cool  half-light  of  the  music-room,  he  could  feel  the  hot 
blood  of  resentment  and  chagrin  in  his  cheeks. 

"Nobody  could  have  foreseen  it,"  repeated  Rue  Ca- 
rew  in  a  pretty,  bewildered  voice.  "And  if  the  Princess 
Nai'a  had  no  suspicions,  how  could  I  harbour  any — or 
how  could  you?" 

"I've  been  sufficiently  tricked — or  I  thought  I  had 
been — to  be  on  my  guard.  But  it  seems  not.  I  ought 
never  to  have  been  caught  in  such  a  digusting  trap — 
such  a  simple,  silly,  idiotic  cage !  But — good  Lord ! 
How  on  earth  was  a  man  to  suspect  anything  so — so 
naturally  planned  and  executed — so  simply  done.  It 
was  an  infernal  masterpiece,  Rue.  But — that  is  no  con 
solation  to  a  man  who  has  been  made  to  appear  like  a 
monkey !" 

The  Princess,  entering,  overheard;  and  she  seated 
herself  and  looked  tranquilly  at  Neeland  as  he  resumed 
his  place  on  the  sofa. 

"You  were  not  to  blame,  Jim,"  she  said.  "It  was  my 
fault.  I  had  warning  enough  at  the  railroad  terminal 
when  an  accident  to  my  car  was  reported  to  me  by  the 
control  through  you."  She  added,  calmly :  "There  was 
no  accident." 

"No  accident?"  exclaimed  Neeland,  astonished. 

"None  at  all.  My  new  footman,  who  followed  us  to 
the  waiting  salon  for  incoming  trains,  returned  to  my 
chauffeur,  Caron,  saying  that  he  was  to  go  back  to 
the  garage  and  await  orders.  I  have  just  called  the 
garage  and  I  had  Caron  on  the  wire.  There  was  no 
accident;  he  has  not  been  injured;  and — the  new  foot 
man  has  disappeared !" 

"It  was  a  clear  case  of  treachery?"  exclaimed  Nee 
land. 

"Absolutely  a  plot.  The  pretended  official  at  the 
291 


THE  DARK  STAB 


terminal  control  was  an  accomplice  of  my  footman,  ef 
the  taxicab  driver,  of  the  pretended  street-cleaners — 
and  of  whom  else  I  can,  perhaps,  imagine." 

"Did  you  call  the  terminal  control?" 

"I  did.  The  official  in  charge  and  the  starter  had 
seen  no  such  accident ;  had  given  no  such  information. 
Some  masquerader  in  uniform  must  have  intercepted 
you,  Jim." 

"I  found  him  coming  toward  me  on  the  sidewalk  not 
far  from  the  kiosque.  He  was  in  uniform ;  I  never 
dreamed  he  was  not  the  genuine  thing." 

"There  is  no  blame  attached  to  you " 

"Nai'a,  it  actually  sickens  me  to  discover  how  little 
sense  I  possess.  I've  been  through  enough  to  drive 
both  suspicion  and  caution  into  this  wooden  head  of 
mine " 

"What  have  you  been  through,  Jim?"  asked  the 
Princess  calmly. 

"I'll  tell  you.  I  didn't  play  a  brilliant  role,  I'm  sorry 
to  admit.  Not  common  sense  but  sheer  luck  pulled  me 
through  as  far  as  your  own  doorstep.  And  there,"  he 
added  disgustedly,  "the  gods  no  doubt  grew  tired  of 
such  an  idiot,  and  they  handed  me  what  was  coming  to 


He  was  so  thoroughly  and  so  boyishly  ashamed  and 
angry  with  himself  that  a  faint  smile  flitted  over  the 
Princess  Na'ia's  lips. 

"Proceed,  James,"  she  said. 

"All  right.  Only  first  may  I  ask — who  is  Use  Du- 
mont?" 

For  a  moment  the  Princess  sat  silent,  expressionless, 
intent  on  the  man  whose  clear,  inquiring  eyes  still  ques 
tioned  her. 

The  Princess  finally  answered  with  a  question: 
292 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


"Did  she  cause  you  any  trouble,  Jim?" 

"Every  bit  I  had  was  due  to  her.  Also — and  here's 
a  paradox — I  shouldn't  be  here  now  if  Use  Dumont  had 
not  played  square  with  me.  Who  is  she?" 

The  Princess  Nai'a  did  not  reply  immediately.  In 
stead,  she  dropped  one  silken  knee  over  the  other, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  sat  for  a  few  moments  gazing 
into  space.  Then : 

"Use  Dumont,"  she  said,  "is  a  talented  and  exceed 
ingly  pretty  young  woman  who  was  born  in  Alsace  of 
one  German  and  one  thoroughly  Germanised  parent. 

"She  played  two  seasons  in  Chicago  in  light  opera 
under  another  name.  She  had  much  talent,  an  accepta 
ble  voice  and  she  became  a  local  favourite." 

The  Princess  looked  at  her  cigarette;  continued 
speaking  as  though  addressing  it : 

"She  sang  at  the  Opera  Comique  here  in  Paris  the 
year  before  last  and  last  year.  Her  roles  were  minor 
ones.  Early  this  spring  she  abruptly  broke  her  con 
tract  with  the  management  and  went  to  New  York." 

Neeland  said  bluntly: 

"Use  Dumont  is  an  agent  in  the  service  of  the  Turk 
ish  Government." 

The  Princess  nodded. 

"Did  you  know  it,  Nai'a?" 

"I  began  to  suspect  it  recently." 

"May  I  ask  how?" 

The  Princess  glanced  at  Rue  and  smiled : 

"Ruhannah's  friend,  Colonel  Izzet  Bey,  was  very  de 
voted  to  Minna  Minti " 

"To  whom!19  exclaimed  Neeland,  astounded. 

"To  Use  Dumont.  Minna  Minti  is  her  stage  name," 
said  the  Princess. 

Neeland  turned  and  looked  at  Rue,  who,  conscious 
293 


THE  DARK  STAR 


of  his  excitement,  flushed  brightly,  yet  never  suspect 
ing  what  he  was  about  to  say. 

The  Princess  said  quietly: 

"Yes,  tell  her,  Jim.  It  is  better  she  should  know. 
Until  now  it  has  not  been  necessary  to  mention  the  mat 
ter,  or  I  should  have  done  so." 

Rue,  surprised,  still  prettily  flushed  with  expectancy, 
looked  with  new  curiosity  from  one  to  the  other. 

Neeland  said: 

"Use  Dumont,  known  on  the  stage  as  Minna  Minti, 
is  the  divorced  wife  of  Eddie  Brandes." 

At  the  mention  of  a  name  so  long  hidden  away,  buried 
in  her  memory,  and  almost  forgotten,  the  girl  quivered 
and  straightened  up,  as  though  an  electric  shock  had 
passed  through  her  body. 

Then  a  burning  colour  flooded  her  face  as  at  the 
swift  stroke  of  a  lash,  and  her  grey  eyes  glimmered  with 
the  starting  tears. 

"You'll  have  to  know  it,  darling,"  said  the  Princess 
in  a  low  voice.  "There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
not;  it  no  longer  can  touch  you.  Don't  you  know 
that?" 

"Y-yes :  Ruhannah's  slowly  drooping  head 

was  lifted  again;  held  high;  and  the  wet  brilliancy 
slowly  dried  in  her  steady  eyes. 

"Before  I  tell  you,"  continued  Neeland,  "what  hap 
pened  to  me  through  Use  Dumont,  I  must  tell  you  what 
occurred  in  the  train  on  my  way  to  Paris.  .  .  .  May  1 
have  a  cigarette,  Princess  Nai'a?" 

"At  your  elbow  in  that  silver  box." 

Rue  Carew  lighted  it  for  him  with  a  smile,  but  her 
hand  still  trembled.  * 

"First,"  he  said,  "tell  me  what  particular  significance 
those  papers  in  the  olive-wood  box  have.  Then  I  can 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


tell  you  more  intelligently  what  happened  to  me  since  I 
went  to  Brookhollow  to  find  them." 

"They  are  the  German  plans  for  the  fortification  of 
the  mainland  commanding  the  Dardanelles,  and  for  the 
forts  dominating  the  Gallipoli  peninsula." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  But  of  what  interest  to  England 
or  France  or  Russia " 

"If  there  is  to  be  war,  can't  you  understand  the  im 
portance  to  us  of  those  plans?"  asked  the  Princess  in 
a  low,  quiet  voice. 

"To— 'us'?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  to  us.     I  am  Russian,  am  I  not?" 

"Yes.  I  now  understand  how  very  Russian  you  are, 
Princess.  But  what  has  Turkey ' 

"What  is  Turkey?" 

"An  empire 

"No.     A  German  province." 

"I  did  not  know- 

"That  is  what  the  Ottoman  Empire  is  today,"  con 
tinued  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  "a  Turkish  province 
fortified  by  Berlin,  governed  from  Berlin  through  a 
Germanised  Turk,  Enver  Pasha ;  the  army  organised, 
drilled,  equipped,  officered,  and  paid  by  the  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm ;  every  internal  resource  and  revenue  and  develop 
ment  and  projected  development  mortgaged  to  Ger 
many  and  under  German  control ;  and  the  Sultan  a  no 
body  !" 

"I  did  not  know  it,"  repeated  Neeland. 

"It  is  the  truth,  mon  ami.  It  is  inevitable  that  Tur 
key  fights  if  Germany  goes  to  war.  England,  France, 
Russia  know  it.  Ask  yourself,  then,  how  enormous  to 
us  the  value  of  those  plans — tentative,  sketchy,  per 
haps,  yet  the  inception  and  foundation  of  those  Ger 
man-made  and  German-armed  fortifications  which  today 

295 


THE  DARK  STAR 


line  the  Dardanelles  and  the  adjacent  waters  within  the 
sphere  of  Ottoman  influence!" 

"So  that  is  why  you  wanted  them,"  he  said  with  an 
unhappy  glance  at  Rue.  "What  idiotic  impulse 
prompted  me  to  put  them  back  in  the  box  I  can't  im 
agine.  You  saw  me  do  it,  there  in  the  taxicab." 

Ruhannah  said: 

"The  chauffeur  saw  you,  too.  He  was  looking  at 
you  in  his  steering  mirror ;  I  saw  his  face.  But  it  never 
entered  my  mind  that  anything  except  idle  curiosity 
possessed  him." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Princess  to  Neeland,  "what  you 
did  with  the  papers  saved  your  life.  Had  that  chauf 
feur  not  seen  you  place  them  in  the  box,  he  might 
have  shot  and  robbed  you  as  you  left  the  cab,  merely 
on  the  chance  of  your  having  them  on  your  per 
son." 

There  was  a  silence ;  then  Neeland  said : 

"This  is  a  fine  business !  As  far  as  I  can  see  murder 
seems  to  be  the  essence  of  the  contract." 

"It  is  often  incidental  to  it,"  said  the  Princess  Mist- 
chenka  serenely.  "But  you  and  Ruhannah  will  soon 
be  out  of  this  affair." 

"I?"  said  the  girl,  surprised. 

"I  think  so." 

"Why,  dear?" 

"I  think  there  is  going  to  be  war.  And  if  there  is, 
France  will  be  concerned.  And  that  means  that  you 
and  Ruhannah,  too,  will  have  to  leave  France." 

"But  you?"  asked  the  girl,  anxiously. 

"I  expect  to  remain.  How  long  can  you  stay  here, 
Jim?" 

Neeland  cast  an  involuntary  glance  at  Rue  as  he 
replied : 

296 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


"I  intended  to  take  the  next  steamer.  Why?  Can  I 
be  of  any  service  to  you,  Princess  Nai'a?" 

The  Princess  Mistchenka  let  her  dark  eyes  rest  on 
him  for  a  second,  then  on  Rue  Carew. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  you  might  take 
Ruhannah  back  with  you  if  war  is  declared." 

"Back  to  America !"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "But  where 
am  I  to  go  in  America  ?  What  am  I  to  do  there  ?  I — I 
didn't  think  I  was  quite  ready  to  earn  my  own  living" — 
looking  anxiously  at  the  Princess  Nai'a — "do  you  think 
so,  dear?" 

The  Princess  said : 

"I  wanted  you  to  remain.  And  you  must  not  worry, 
darling.  Some  day  I  shall  want  you  back —  But  if 
there  is  to  be  war  in  Europe  you  cannot  remain  here." 

"Why  not?" 

"In  the  first  place,  only  useful  people  would  be  wanted 
in  Paris " 

"But,  Nai'a,  darling!  Couldn't  I  be  useful  to  you?" 
The  girl  jumped  up  from  the  sofa  and  came  and  knelt 
down  by  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  looking  up  into  her 
face. 

The  Princess  laid  aside  her  cigarette  and  put  both 
hands  on  Rue's  shoulders,  looking  her  gravely,  ten 
derly  in  the  eyes. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  "I  want  James  Neeland  to  hear 
this,  too.  For  it  is  partly  a  confession. 

"When  I  first  saw  you,  Rue,  I  was  merely  sorry  for 
you,  and  willing  to  oblige  Jim  Neeland  by  keeping  an 
eye  on  you  until  you  were  settled  somewhere  here  in 
Paris. 

"Before  we  landed  I  liked  you.  And,  because  I  saw 
wonderful  possibilities  in  the  little  country  girl  who 
shared  my  stateroom,  I  deliberately  made  up  my  mind 

297 


THE  DARK  STAR 


to  develop  you,  make  use  of  your  excellent  mind,  your 
quick  intelligence,  your  amazing  capacity  for  absorb 
ing  everything  that  is  best,  and  your  very  unusual  at 
tractions  for  my  own  purposes.  I  meant — to  train  you 
— educate  you — to  aid  me." 

There  was  a  silence ;  the  girl  looked  up  at  her,  flushed, 
intent,  perplexed;  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  her  hands 
on  the  girl's  shoulders,  looked  back  at  her  out  of  grave 
and  beautiful  dark  eyes. 

"That  is  the  truth,"  said  the  Princess.  "My  inten 
tion  was  to  develop  you  along  the  lines  which  I  follow 
as  a — profession ;  teach  you  to  extract  desirable  infor 
mation  through  your  wit,  intelligence,  and  beauty — 

using  your  youth  as  a  mask.  But  I — I  can't  do  it " 

She  shook  her  head  slightly.  "Because  Pve  lost  my 
heart  to  you.  .  .  .  And  the  business  I  follow  is  a — a 
rotten  game." 

Again  silence  fell  among  those  three;  Rue,  kneeling 
at  the  elder  woman's  feet,  looked  up  into  her  face  in 
silence ;  Neeland,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  leaned 
slightly  forward  from  the  sofa,  watching  them. 

"I'll  help  you,  if  you  wish,"  said  Rue  Carew. 

"Thank  you,  dear.     No." 

"Let  me.  I  owe  you  everything  since  I  have  been 
here " 

"No,  dear.  What  I  said  to  you — and  to  James — is 
true.  It's  a  merciless,  stealthy,  treacherous  business; 
it's  dangerous  to  a  woman,  body  and  soul.  It  is  one 
long  lifetime  of  experience  with  treachery,  with  greed, 
with  baser  passions,  with  all  that  is  ignoble  in  mankind. 

"There  is  no  reason  for  you  to  enter  such  a  circle; 
no  excuse  for  it;  no  duty  urges  you;  no  patriotism 
incites  you  to  such  self-sacrifice;  no  memory  of  wrong 
done  to  your  nearest  and  dearest  inspires  you  to  dedi- 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


cate  your  life  to  aiding — if  only  a  little,  in  the  downfall 
and  destruction  of  the  nation  and  the  people  who  en 
compassed  it !" 

The  Princess  Mistchenka's  dark  eyes  began  to  gleam, 
and  her  beautiful  face  lost  its  colour ;  and  she  took  Rue's 
little  hands  in  both  of  hers  and  held  them  tightly 
against  her  breast. 

"Kad  I  not  lost  my  heart  to  you,  perhaps  I  should 
not  have  hesitated  to  develop  and  make  use  of  you. 

"You  are  fitted  for  the  role  I  might  wish  you  to  play. 
Men  are  fascinated  by  you ;  your  intelligence  charms ; 
your  youth  and  innocence,  worn  as  a  mask,  might  make 
you  invaluable  to  the  Chancellerie  which  is  interested 
in  the  information  I  provide  for  it. 

"But,  Rue,  I  have  come  to  understand  that  I  cannot 
do  this  thing.  No.  Go  back  to  your  painting  and  your 
clever  drawing  and  your  music ;  any  one  of  these  is  cer 
tain  to  give  you  a  living  in  time.  And  in  that  direction 
alone  your  happiness  lies." 

She  leaned  forward  and  kissed  the  girl's  hair  where  it 
was  fine  and  blond,  close  to  the  snowy  forehead. 

"If  war  comes,"  she  said,  "you  and  James  will  have 
to  go  home,  like  two  good  children  when  the  curfew 
rings." 

She  laughed,  pushed  Rue  away,  lighted  another  ciga 
rette,  and,  casting  a  glance  partly  ironical,  partly 
provocative,  at  the  good-looking  young  man  on  the 
sofa,  said: 

"As  for  you,  James,  I  don't  worry  about  you.  Im 
pudence  will  always  carry  you  through  where  diplo 
macy  fails  you.  Now,  tell  me  all  about  these  three 
unpleasant  sporting  characters  who  occupied  the  train 
with  you." 

Neeland  laughed. 

299 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"It  seems  that  a  well-known  gambler  in  New  York, 
called  Captain  Quint,  is  backing  them;  and  somebody 
higher  up  is  backing  Quint — 

"Probably  the  Turkish  Embassy  at  Washington," 
interposed  the  Princess,  coolly.  "I'm  sorry,  Jim;  pray 
go  on." 

"The  Turkish  Embassy?"  he  repeated,  surprised 
that  she  should  guess. 

"Yes ;  and  the  German  Embassy  is  backing  that. 
There  you  are,  Jim.  That  is  the  sequence  as  far  as 
your  friend,  Captain  Quint.  Now,  who  comes  next  in 
the  scale?" 

"This  man — Brandes — and  the  little  chalk-faced 
creature,  Stull;  and  the  other  one,  with  the  fox  face — 
Doc  Curfoot." 

"I  see.     And  then?" 

"Then,  as  I  gathered,  there  are  several  gentlemen 
wearing  Teutonic  names — who  are  to  go  into  partner 
ship  with  them — one  named  Kestner,  one  called  Theo 
dore  Weishelm,  and  an  exceedingly  oily  Eurasian  gen 
tleman  with  whom  I  became  acquainted  on  the  Volhynia 
— one  Karl  Breslau 

"Breslau!"  exclaimed  the  Princess.  "Now  I  under 
stand." 

"Who  is  he,  Princess?" 

"He  is  the  most  notorious  international  spy  in  the 
world — a  protean  individual  with  aliases,  professions, 
and  experiences  sufficient  for  an  entire  jail  full  of  crimi 
nals.  His  father  was  a  German  Jew;  his  mother  a 
Circassian  girl;  he  was  educated  in  Germany,  France, 
Italy,  and  England.  He  has  been  a  member  of  the  so 
cialist  group  in  the  Reichstag  under  one  name,  a  mem 
ber  of  the  British  Parliament  under  another ;  he  did 
dirty  work  for  Abdul  Hamid ;  dirtier  for  Enver  Bey. 

300 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OR 


"He  is  here,  there,  everywhere ;  he  turns  up  in  Bra 
zil  one  day,  and  is  next  in  evidence  in  Moscow.  What 
he  is  so  eternally  about  God  only  knows:  what 
Chancellery  he  serves,  which  he  betrays,  is  a  question 
that  occupies  many  uneasy  minds  this  very  hour,  I 
fancy. 

"But  of  this  I,  personally,  am  now  satisfied;  Karl 
Breslau  is  responsible  for  the  robbery  of  your  papers 
today,  and  the  entire  affair  was  accomplished  under 
his  direction !" 

"And  yet  I  know,"  said  Neeland,  "that  after  he  and 
Kestner  tried  to  blow  up  the  captain's  cabin  and  the 
bridge  aboard  the  Volliynia  yesterday  morning  at  a 
little  after  two  o'clock,  he  and  Kestner  must  have 
jumped  overboard  in  the  Mersey  River  off  Liverpool." 

"Without  doubt   a  boat  was  watching  your  ship." 

"Yes ;  WeisheJm  had  a  fishing  smack  to  pick  them 
up.  Use  Dumont  must  have  gone  with  them,  too." 

"All  they  had  to  do  was  to  touch  at  some  dock,  go 
ashore,  and  telegraph  to  their  men  here,"  said  the  Prin 
cess. 

"That,  evidently,  is  what  they  did,"  admitted  Nee- 
land  ruefully. 

"Certainly.  And  by  this  time  they  may  be  here, 
too.  They  could  do  it.  I  haven't  any  doubt  that  Bres 
lau,  Kestner,  and  Use  Dumont  are  here  in  Paris  at  this 
moment." 

"Then  I'll  wager  I  know  where  they  are !" 

"Where?" 

"In  the  Hotel  des  Bulgars,  rue  Vilna.  That's  where 
they  are  to  operate  a  gaming  house.  That  is  where 
they  expect  to  pluck  and  fleece  the  callow  and  the  aged 
who  may  have  anything  of  political  importance  about 
them  worth  stealing.  That  is  their  plan.  Agents, 

301 


THE  DARK  STAR 


officials,  employees  of  all  consulates,  legations,  and  em 
bassies  are  what  they're  really  after.  I  heard  them 
discussing  it  there  in  the  train  today." 

The  Princess  had  fallen  very  silent,  musing,  watching 
Neeland's  animated  face  as  he  detailed  his  knowledge 
of  what  had  occurred. 

"Why  not  notify  the  police?"  he  added.  "There 
might  be  a  chance  to  recover  the  box  and  the  papers." 

The  Princess  shook  her  pretty  head. 

"We  have  to  be  very  careful  how  we  use  the  police, 
James.  It  seems  simple,  but  it  is  not.  I  can't  explain 
the  reasons,  but  we  usually  pit  spy  against  spy,  and 
keep  very  clear  of  the  police.  Otherwise,"  she  added, 
smiling,  "there  would  be  the  deuce  to  pay  among  the 
embassies  and  legations."  She  added :  "It's  a  most 
depressing  situation ;  I  don't  exactly  know  what  to  do. 
...  I  have  letters  to  write,  anyway " 

She  rose,  turned  to  Rue  and  took  both  her  hands : 

"No;  you  must  go  back  to  New  York  and  to  your 
painting  and  music  if  there  is  to  be  war  in  Europe. 
But  you  have  had  a  taste  of  what  goes  on  in  certain 
circles  here;  you  have  seen  what  a  chain  of  conse 
quences  ensue  from  a  chance  remark  of  a  young  girl  at 
a  dinner  table." 

"Yes." 

"It's  amusing,  isn't  it?  A  careless  and  innocent 
word  to  that  old  busybody,  Ahmed  Mirka  Pasha,  at  my 
table — that  began  it.  Then  another  word  to  Izzet 
Bey.  And  I  had  scarcely  time  to  realise  what  had 
happened — barely  time  to  telegraph  James  in  New 
York — before  their  entire  underground  machinery  was 
set  in  motion  to  seize  those  wretched  papers  in  Brook- 
hollow  !" 

Neeland  said: 

302 


RUE  SOLEIL  D'OK 


"You  don't  know  even  yet,  Princess,  how  amazingly 
fast  that  machinery  worked." 

"Tell  me  now,  James.  I  have  time  enough  to  write 
my  warning  since  it  is  already  too  late."  And  she 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  drew  Ruhannah  down 
beside  her. 

"Listen,  dear,"  she  said  with  pretty  mockery,  "here 
is  a  most  worthy  young  man  who  is  simply  dying  to 
let  us  know  how  picturesque  a  man  can  be  when  he 
tries  to." 

Neeland  laughed: 

"The  only  trouble  with  me,"  he  retorted,  "is  that 
I've  a  rather  hopeless  habit  of  telling  the  truth.  Other 
wise  there'd  be  some  chance  for  me  as  a  hero  in  what 
I'm  going  to  tell  you." 

And  he  began  with  his  first  encounter  with  Use  Du- 
mont  in  Rue  Carew's  house  at  Brookhollow.  After 
he  had  been  speaking  for  less  than  a  minute,  Rue  Ca 
rew's  hands  tightened  in  the  clasp  of  the  Princess  Nai'a, 
who  glanced  at  the  girl  and  noticed  that  she  had  lost 
her  colour. 

And  Neeland  continued  his  partly  playful,  partly 
serious  narrative  of  "moving  accidents  by  flood  and 
field,"  aware  of  the  girl's  deep,  breathless  interest, 
moved  by  it,  and,  conscious  of  it,  the  more  inclined  to 
avoid  the  picturesque  and  heroic,  and  almost  ashamed 
to  talk  of  himself  at  all  under  the  serious  beauty  of 
the  girl's  clear  eyes. 

But  he  could  scarcely  tell  his  tale  and  avoid  men 
tioning  himself;  he  was  the  centre  of  it  all,  the  focus 
of  the  darts  of  Fate,  and  there  was  no  getting  away 
from  what  happened  to  himself. 

So  he  made  the  melodrama  a  comedy,  and  the  mo 
ments  of  deadly  peril  he  treated  lightly.  And  one  thing 

303 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  avoided  altogether,  and  that  was  how  he  had  kissed 
Use  Dumont. 

When  he  finished  his  account  of  his  dreadful  situa 
tion  in  the  stateroom  of  Use  Dumont,  and  how  at  the 
last  second  her  unerring  shots  had  shattered  the  bomb 
clock,  cut  the  guy-rope,  and  smashed  the  water-jug 
which  deluged  the  burning  fuses,  he  added  with  a  very 
genuine  laugh : 

"If  only  some  photographer  had  taken  a  few  hun 
dred  feet  of  film  for  me  I  could  retire  on  an  income 
in  a  year  and  never  do  another  stroke  of  honest 
work !" 

The  Princess  smiled,  mechanically,  but  Rue  Carew 
dropped  her  white  face  on  the  Princess  Naia's  shoulder 
as  though  suddenly  fatigued. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

FROM  FOUR  TO  FIVE 

THE  Princess  Mistchenka  and  Rue  Carew  had  re 
tired  to  their  respective  rooms  for  that  hour  between 
four  and  five  in  the  afternoon,  which  the  average  woman 
devotes  to  cat-naps  or  to  that  aimless  feminine  fussing 
which  must  ever  remain  a  mystery  to  man. 

The  afternoon  had  turned  very  warm;  Neeland,  in 
his  room,  lay  on  the  lounge  in  his  undershirt  and  trou 
sers,  having  arrived  so  far  toward  bathing  and  chang 
ing  his  attire. 

No  breeze  stirred  the  lattice  blinds  hanging  over 
both  open  windows;  the  semi-dusk  of  the  room  was 
pierced  here  and  there  by  slender  shafts  of  sunlight 
which  lay  almost  white  across  the  carpet  and  striped 
the  opposite  wall ;  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  was  very  silent  in 
the  July  afternoon. 

And  Neeland  lay  there  thinking  about  all  that  had 
happened  to  him  and  trying  to  bring  it  home  to  him 
self  and  make  it  seem  plausible  and  real ;  and  could  not. 

For  even  now  the  last  ten  days  of  his  life  seemed 
like  a  story  he  had  read  concerning  someone  else. 
Nor  did  it  seem  to  him  that  he  personally  had  known 
all  those  people  concerned  in  this  wild,  exaggerated, 
grotesque  story.  They,  too,  took  their  places  on  the 
printed  page,  appearing,  lingering,  disappearing,  re 
appearing,  as  chapter  succeeded  chapter  in  a  romance 
too  obvious,  too  palpably  sensational  to  win  the  confi 
dence  and  credulity  of  a  young  man  of  today. 

305 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Fed  to  repletion  on  noisy  contemporary  fiction,  his 
finer  perception  blunted  by  the  daily  and  raucous  yell 
of  the  New  York  press,  his  imagination  too  long  over 
strained  by  Broadway  drama  and  now  flaccid  and  in 
capable  of  further  response  to  its  leering  or  shrieking 
appeal,  the  din  of  twentieth-century  art  fell  on  nerve 
less  ears  and  on  a  brain  benumbed  and  sceptical. 

And  so  when  everything  that  he  had  found  grotesque, 
illogical,  laboured,  obvious,  and  clamorously  redundant 
in  literature  and  the  drama  began  to  happen  and  con 
tinued  to  happen  in  real  life  to  him — and  went  on  hap 
pening  and  involving  himself  and  others  all  around 
him  in  the  pleasant  July  sunshine  of  1914,  this  young 
man,  made  intellectually  blase,  found  himself  without 
sufficient  capacity  to  comprehend  it. 

There  was  another  matter  with  which  his  mind  was 
struggling  as  he  lay  there,  his  head  cradled  on  one 
elbow,  watching  the  thin  blue  spirals  from  his  ciga 
rette  mount  straight  to  the  ceiling,  and  that  was  the 
metamorphosis  of  Rue  Carew. 

Where  was  the  thin  girl  he  remembered — with  her 
untidy  chestnut  hair  and  freckles,  and  a  rather  sweet 
mouth — dressed  in  garments  the  only  mission  of  which 
was  to  cover  a  flat  chest  and  frail  body  and  limbs 
whose  too  rapid  growth  had  outstripped  maturity? 

To  search  for  her  he  went  back  to  the  beginning, 
where  a  little  girl  in  a  pink  print  dress,  bare-legged 
and  hatless,  loitered  along  an  ancient  rail  fence  and 
looked  up  shyly  at  him  as  he  warned  her  to  keep  out 
of  range  of  the  fusillade  from  the  bushes  across  the 
pasture. 

He  thought  of  her  again  at  the  noisy  party  in  Gay- 
field  on  that  white  night  in  winter ;  visualised  the  tall, 
shy,  overgrown  girl  who  danced  with  him  and  made  no 

306 


FROM  FOUR  TO  FIVE 


complaint  when  her  slim  foot  was  trodden  on.  And 
again  he  remembered  the  sleigh  and  the  sleighbells 
clashing  and  tinkling  under  the  moon ;  the  light  from 
her  doorway,  and  how  she  stood  looking  back  at  him ; 
and  how,  on  the  mischievous  impulse  of  the  moment,  he 
had  gone  back  and  kissed  her 

At  the  memory  an  odd  sensation  came  over  him,  scar 
ing  him  a  little.  How  on  earth  had  he  ever  had  the 
temerity  to  do  such  a  thing  to  her! 

And,  as  he  thought  of  this  exquisite,  slender,  clear- 
eyed  young  girl  who  had  greeted  him  at  the  Paris  ter 
minal — this  charming  embodiment  of  all  that  is  fresh 
and  sweet  and  fearless — in  her  perfect  hat  and  gown 
of  mondaine  youth  and  fashion,  the  memory  of  his 
temerity  appalled  him. 

Imagine   his   taking  an  unencouraged   liberty   now! 

Nor  could  he  dare  imagine  encouragement  from  the 
Rue  Carew  so  amazingly  revealed  to  him. 

Out  of  what,  in  heaven's  name,  had  this  lovely 
girl  developed?  Out  of  a  shy,  ragged,  bare-legged 
child,  haunting  the  wild  blackberry  tangles  in  Brook- 
hollow  ? 

Out  of  the  frail,  charmingly  awkward,  pathetic, 
freckled  mill-hand  in  her  home-made  party  clothes,  the 
rather  sweet  expression  of  whose  mouth  once  led  him 
to  impudent  indiscretion? 

Out  of  what  had  she  been  evolved — this  young  girl 
whom  he  had  left  just  now  standing  beside  her  boudoir 
door  with  the  Princess  Naia's  arm  around  her  waist? 
Out  of  the  frightened,  white-lipped,  shabby  girl  who 
had  come  dragging  her  trembling  limbs  and  her  suit 
case  up  the  dark  stairway  outside  his  studio?  Out 
of  the  young  thing  with  sagging  hair,  crouched  in  an 
armchair  beside  his  desk,  where  her  cheap  hat  lay  with 

307 


THE  DARK  STAR 


two  cheap  hatpins  sticking  in  the  crown?  Out  of  the 
fragile  figure  buried  in  the  bedclothes  of  a  stateroom 
berth,  holding  out  to  him  a  thin,  bare  arm  in  voiceless 
adieu  ? 

And  Neeland  lay  there  thinking,  his  head  on  his  el 
bow,  the  other  arm  extended — from  the  fingers  of  which 
the  burnt-out  cigarette  presently  fell  to  the  floor. 

He  thought  to  himself: 

"She  is  absolutely  beautiful ;  there's  no  denying  that. 
It's  not  her  clothes  or  the  way  she  does  her  hair,  or 
her  voice,  or  the  way  she  moves,  or  how  she  looks  at 
a  man;  it's  the  whole  business.  And  the  whole  bally 
business  is  a  miracle,  that's  all.  Good  Lord!  And  to 
think  I  ever  had  the  nerve — the  nerve!" 

He  swung  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  sat  gazing 
into  space  for  a  few  moments,  then  continued  to  undress 
by  pulling  off  one  shoe,  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  re 
garding  his  other  foot  fixedly. 

That  is  the  manner  in  which  the  vast  majority  of 
young  men  do  their  deepest  thinking. 

However,  before  five  o'clock  he  had  scrubbed  himself 
and  arrayed  his  well  constructed  person  in  fresh  linen 
and  outer  clothing;  and  now  he  sauntered  out  through 
the  hallway  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  rear  drawing- 
room,  where  a  tea-table  had  been  brought  in  and  tea 
paraphernalia  arranged.  Although  the  lamp  under  the 
kettle  had  been  lighted,  nobody  was  in  the  room  ex 
cept  a  West  Highland  terrier  curled  up  on  a  lounge, 
who,  without  lifting  his  snow-white  head,  regarded  Nee- 
land  out  of  the  wisest  and  most  penetrating  eyes  the 
young  man  had  ever  encountered. 

Here  was  a  personality !  Here  was  a  dog  not  to  be 
approached  lightly  or  with  flippant  familiarity.  No! 
That  small,  long,  short-legged  body  with  its  thatch  of 

308 


FROM  FOUR  TO  FIFE 


wiry  white  hair  was  fairly  instinct  with  dignity,  wis 
dom,  and  uncompromising  self-respect. 

"That  dog,"  thought  Neeland,  venturing  to  seat 
himself  on  a  chair  opposite,  "is  a  Presbyterian  if  ever 
there  was  one.  And  I,  for  one,  haven't  the  courage 
to  address  him  until  he  deigns  to  speak  to  me." 

He  looked  respectfully  at  the  dog,  glanced  at  the 
kettle  which  had  begun  to  sizzle  a  little,  then  looked 
out  of  the  long  windows  into  the  little  walled  garden 
where  a  few  slender  fruit  trees  grew  along  the  walls 
in  the  rear  of  well-kept  flower  beds,  now  gay  with 
phlox,  larkspur,  poppies,  and  heliotrope,  and  edged 
with  the  biggest  and  bluest  pansies.he  had  ever  beheld. 

On  the  wall  a  Peacock  butterfly  spread  its  brown 
velvet  and  gorgeously  eyed  wings  to  the  sun's  warmth; 
a  blackbird  with  brilliant  yellow  bill  stood  astride  a 
peach  twig  and  poured  out  a  bubbling  and  incessant 
melody  full  of  fluted  grace  notes.  And  on  the  grass 
oval  a  kitten  frisked  with  the  ghosts  of  last  month's 
dandelions,  racing  after  the  drifting  fluff  and  occasion 
ally  keeling  over  to  attack  its  own  tail,  after  the 
enchanting  manner  of  all  kittens. 

A  step  behind  him  and  Neeland  turned.  It  was 
Marotte,  the  butler,  who  presented  a  thick,  sealed  en 
velope  to 'him  on  his  salver,  bent  to  turn  down  the  flame 
under  the  singing  silver  kettle,  and  withdrew  without  a 
sound. 

Neeland  glanced  at  the  letter  in  perplexity,  opened 
the  envelope  and  the  twice-folded  sheets  of  letter  paper 
inside,  and  .read  this  odd  communication: 

Have  I  been  fair  to  you?  Did  I  keep  my  word?  Surely 
you  must  now,  in  your  heart,  acquit  me  of  treachery — of 
any  premeditated  violence  toward  you. 

I  never  dreamed  that  those  men  would  come  to  my 
309 


THE  DARK  STAR 


stateroom.  That  plan  had  been  discussed,  but  was  aban 
doned  because  it  appeared  impossible  to  get  hold  of  you. 

And  also — may  I  admit  it  without  being  misunder 
stood? — I  absolutely  refused  to  permit  any  attempt  in 
volving  your  death. 

When  the  trap  shut  on  you,  there  in  my  stateroom,  it 
shut  also  on  me.  I  was  totally  unprepared;  I  was  averse 
to  murder;  and  also  I  had  given  you  my  word  of  honour. 

Judge,  then,  of  my  shame  and  desperation — my  anger 
at  being  entrapped  in  a  false  position  involving  the  loss 
in  your  eyes  of  my  personal  honour! 

It  was  unbearable:  and  I  did  what  I  could  to  make  it 
clear  to  you  that  I  had  not  betrayed  you.  But  my  com 
rades  do  not  yet  know  that  I  had  any  part  in  it;  do  not 
yet  understand  why  the  ship  was  not  blown  to  splinters. 
They  are  satisfied  that  I  made  a  mistake  in  the  rendezvous. 
And,  so  far,  no  suspicion  attaches  to  me;  they  believe  the 
mechanism  of  the  clock  failed  them.  And  perhaps  it  is 
well  for  me  that  they  believe  this. 

It  is,  no  doubt,  a  matter  of  indifference  to  you  how  the 
others  and  I  reached  safety.  I  have  no  delusions  concern 
ing  any  personal  and  kindly  feeling  on  your  part  toward 
me.  But  one  thing  you  can  not — dare  not — believe,  and 
that  is  that  I  proved  treacherous  to  you  and  false  to  my 
own  ideas  of  honour. 

And  now  let  me  say  one  more  thing  to  you — let  me  say 
it  out  of  a — friendship — for  which  you  care  nothing — 
could  not  care  anything.  And  that  is  this:  your  task  is 
accomplished.  You  could  not  possibly  have  succeeded. 
There  is  no  chance  for  recovery  of  those  papers.  Your 
mission  is  definitely  ended. 

Now,  I  beg  of  you  to  return  to  America.  Keep  clear 
of  entanglement  in  these  events  which  are  beginning  to 
happen  in  such  rapid  succession  in  Europe.  They  do  not 
concern  you;  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  no  in 
terest  in  them.  Your  entry  into  affairs  which  can  not  con 
cern  you  would  be  insulting  effrontery  and  foolish  bravado. 

I  beg  you  to  heed  this  warning.  I  know  you  to  be 
personally  courageous;  I  suppose  that  fear  of  conse 
quences  would  not  deter  you  from  intrusion  into  any  af 
fair,  however  dangerous;  but  I  dare  hope  that  perhaps 

310 


FROM  FOUR  TO  FIFE 


in  your  heart  there  may  have  been  born  a  little  spark  of 
friendliness — a  faint  warmth  of  recognition  for  a  woman 
who  took  some  slight  chance  with  death  to  prove  to  you 
that  her  word  of  honour  is  not  lightly  given  or  lightly 
broken. 

So,  if  you  please,  our  ways  part  here  with  this  letter 
sent  to  you  by  hand. 

I  shall  not  forget  the  rash  but   generous  boy  I  knew 
who  called  me 

SCHEHERAZADE. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

TOGETHER 

HE  sat  there,  holding  the  letter  and  looking  absently 
over  it  at  the  little  dog  who  had  gone  to  sleep  again. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save  the  faint  whisper 
of  the  tea-kettle.  The  sunny  garden  outside  was  very 
still,  too ;  the  blackbird  appeared  to  doze  on  his  peach 
twig;  the  kitten  had  settled  down  with  eyes  half  closed 
and  tail  tucked  under  flank. 

The  young  man  sat  there  with  his  letter  in  his  hand 
and  eyes  lost  in  retrospection  for  a  while. 

In  his  hand  lay  evidence  that  the  gang  which  had 
followed  him,  and  through  which  he  no  longer  doubted 
that  he  had  been  robbed,  was  now  in  Paris. 

And  yet  he  could  not  give  this  information  to  the 
Princess  Nai'a.  Here  was  a  letter  which  he  could  not 
show.  Something  within  him  forbade  it,  some  instinct 
which  he  did  not  trouble  to  analyse. 

And  this  instinct  sent  the  letter  into  his  breast 
pocket  as  a  light  sound  came  to  his  ears;  and  the 
next  instant  Rue  Carew  entered  the  further  drawing- 
room. 

The  little  West  Highland  terrier  looked  up,  wagged 
that  section  of  him  which  did  duty  as  a  tail,  and  watched 
her  as  Neeland  rose  to  seat  her  at  the  tea-table. 

"Sandy,"  she  said  to  the  little  dog,  "if  you  care  to 
say  'Down  with  the  Sultan,'  I  shall  bestow  one  lump 
of  sugar  upon  you." 

"Yap-yap !"  said  the  little  dog. 
312 


TOGETHER 


"Give  it  to  him,  please Rue  handed  the  sugar 

to  Neeland,  who  delivered  it  gravely. 

"That's  because  I  want  Sandy  to  like  you,"  she 
added. 

Neeland  regarded  the  little  dog  and  addressed  him 
politely : 

"I  shouldn't  dare  call  you  Sandy  on  such  brief  ac 
quaintance,"  he  said ;  "but  may  I  salute  you  as  Alex 
ander?  Thank  you,  Alexander." 

He  patted  the  dog,  whose  tail  made  a  slight,  sketchy 
motion  of  approval. 

"Now,"  said  Rue  Carew,  "you  are  friends,  and  we 
shall  all  be  very  happy  together,  I'm  sure.  .  .  .  Prin 
cess  Nai'a  said  we  were  not  to  wait.  Tell  me  how  to 
fix  your  tea." 

He  explained.  About  to  begin  on  a  buttered  crois 
sant,  he  desisted  abruptly  and  rose  to  receive  the 
Princess,  who  entered  with  the  light,  springy  step  char 
acteristic  of  her,  gowned  in  one  of  those  Parisian  after 
noon  creations  which  never  are  seen  outside  that  capi 
tal,  and  never  will  be. 

"Far  too  charming  to  be  real,"  commented  Neeland. 
"You  are  a  pretty  fairy  story,  Princess  Nai'a,  and  your 
gown  is  a  miracle  tale  which  never  was  true." 

He  had  not  dared  any  such  flippancy  with  Rue 
Carew,  and  the  girl,  who  knew  she  was  exquisitely 
gowned,  felt  an  odd  little  pang  in  her  heart  as  this 
young  man's  praise  of  the  Princess  Mistchenka  fell  so 
easily  and  gaily  from  his  lips.  He  might  have  noticed 
her  gown,  as  it  had  been  chosen  with  many  doubts,  much 
hesitation,  and  anxious  consideration,  for  him. 

She  flushed  a  little  at  the  momentary  trace  of  envy : 

"You  are  too  lovely  for  words,"  she  said,  rising.  But 
the  Princess  gently  forced  her  to  resume  her  seat. 

313 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"If  this  young  man  has  any  discrimination,"  she  said, 
"he  won't  hesitate  with  the  golden  apple,  Ruhannah." 

Rue  laughed  and  flushed: 

"He  hasn't  noticed  my  gown,  and  I  wore  it  for  him 
to  notice,"  she  said.  "But  he  was  too  deeply  interested 
in  Sandy  and  in  tea  and  croissants " 

"I  did  notice  it !"  said  Neeland.  And,  to  that  young 
man's  surprise  and  annoyance,  his  face  grew  hot  with 
embarrassment.  What  on  earth  possessed  him  to  blush 
like  a  plow-boy!  He  suddenly  felt  like  one,  too,  and 
turned  sharply  to  the  little  dog,  perplexed,  irritated 
with  himself  and  his  behaviour. 

Behind  him  the  Princess  was  saying: 

"The  car  is  here.  I  shan't  stop  for  tea,  dear.  In 
case  anything  happens,  I  am  at  the  Embassy." 

"The  Russian  Embassy,"  repeated  Rue. 

"Yes.  I  may  be  a  little  late.  We  are  to  dine  here 
en  -famille  at  eight.  You  will  entertain  James 

"James !"  she  repeated,  addressing  him.  "Do  you 
think  Ruhannah  sufficiently  interesting  to  entertain 
you  while  I  am  absent?" 

But  all  his  aplomb,  his  lack  of  self-consciousness, 
seemed  to  be  gone ;  and  Neeland  made  some  reply  which 
seemed  to  him  both  obvious  and  dull.  And  hated  him 
self  because  he  found  himself  so  unaccountably  abashed, 
realising  that  he  was  afraid  of  the  opinions  that  this 
young  girl  might  entertain  concerning  him. 

"I'm  going,"  said  the  Princess.  "Au  revoir,  dear; 
good-bye,  James — 

She  looked  at  him  keenly  when  he  turned  to  face  her, 
smiled,  still  considering  him  as  though  she  had  unex 
pectedly  discovered  a  new  feature  in  his  expressive  face. 

Whatever  it  was  she  discovered  seemed  to  make  her 
smile  a  trifle  more  mechanical;  she  turned  slowly  to 


TOGETHER 

Rue  Cacrew,  hesitated,  then,  nodding  a  gay  adieu, 
turned  and  left  the  room  with  Neeland  at  her  elbow. 

"I'll  tuck  you  in,"  he  began;  but  she  said: 

"Thanks ;  Marotte  will  do  that."  And  left  him  at 
the  door. 

When  the  car  had  driven  away  down  the  rue  Soleil 
d'Or,  Neeland  returned  to  the  little  drawing-room 
where  Rue  was  indulging  Sandy  with  small  bits  of 
sugar. 

He  took  up  cup  and  buttered  croissant,  and  for  a 
little  while  nothing  was  said,  except  to  Sandy  who, 
upon  invitation,  repeated  his  opinion  of  the  Sultan  and 
snapped  in  the  offered  emolument  with  unsatiated  satis 
faction. 

To  Rue  Carew  as  well  as  to  Neeland  there  seemed  to 
be  a  slight  constraint  between  them — something  not  en 
tirely  new  to  her  since  they  had  met  again  after  two 
years. 

In  the  two  years  of  her  absence  she  had  been  very 
faithful  to  the  memory  of  his  kindness ;  constant  in  the 
friendship  which  she  had  given  him  unasked — given  him 
first,  she  sometimes  thought,  when  she  was  a  little  child 
in  a  ragged  pink  frock,  and  he  was  a  wonderful  young 
man  who  had  taken  the  trouble  to  cross  the  pasture 
and  warn  her  out  of  range  of  the  guns. 

He  had  always  held  his  unique  place  in  her  memory 
and  in  her  innocent  affections ;  she  had  written  to  him 
again  and  again,  in  spite  of  his  evident  lack  of  interest 
in  the  girl  to  whom  he  had  been  kind.  Rare,  brief 
letters  from  him  were  read  and  reread,  and  laid  away 
with  her  best-loved  treasures.  And  when  the  prospect 
of  actually  seeing  him  again  presented  itself,  she  had 
been  so  frankly  excited  and  happy  that  the  Princess 
Mistchenka  could  find  in  the  girl's  unfeigned  delight 

315 


THE  DARK  STAR 


nothing  except  a  young  girl's  touching  and  slightly 
amusing  hero-worship. 

But  with  her  first  exclamation  when  she  caught  sight 
of  him  at  the  terminal,  something  about  her  precon 
ceived  ideas  of  him,  and  her  memory  of  him,  was  sud- 
dently  and  subtly  altered,  even  while  his  name  fell  from 
her  excited  lips. 

Because  she  had  suddenly  realised  that  he  was  even 
more  wonderful  than  she  had  expected  or  remembered, 
and  that  she  did  not  know  him  at  all — that  she  had  no 
knowledge  of  this  tall,  handsome,  well-built  young  fel 
low  with  his  sunburnt  features  and  his  air  of  smiling 
aloofness  and  of  graceful  assurance,  almost  fascinating 
and  a  trifle  disturbing. 

Which  had  made  the  girl  rather  grave  and  timid, 
uncertain  of  the  estimation  in  which  he  might  hold  her ; 
no  longer  so  sure  of  any  encouragement  from  him  in 
her  perfectly  obvious  attitude  of  a  friend  of  former 
days. 

And  so,  shyly  admiring,  uncertain,  inclined  to  warm 
response  at  any  advance  from  this  wonderful  young 
man,  the  girl  had  been  trying  to  adjust  herself  to  this 
new  incarnation  of  a  certain  James  Neeland  who  had 
won  her  gratitude  and  who  had  awed  her,  too,  from 
the  time  when,  as  a  little  girl,  she  had  first  beheld  him. 

She  lifted  her  golden-grey  eyes  to  him ;  a  little  unex 
pected  sensation  not  wholly  unpleasant  checked  her 
speech  for  a  moment. 

This  was  odd,  even  unaccountable.  Such  awkward 
ness,  such  disquieting  and  provincial  timidity  wouldn't 
do. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  a  little  about  Brook- 
hollow?"  she  ventured. 

Certainly  he  would  tell  her.  He  laid  aside  his  plate 
316 


TOGETHER 

and  tea  cup  and  told  her  of  his  visits  there  when  he 
had  walked  over  from  Neeland's  Mills  in  the  pleasant 
summer  weather. 

Nothing  had  changed,  he  assured  her;  mill-dam  and 
pond  and  bridge,  and  the  rushing  creek  below  were 
exactly  as  she  knew  them ;  her  house  stood  there  at  the 
crossroads,  silent  and  closed  in  the  sunshine,  and  under 
the  high  moon;  pickerel  and  sunfish  still  haunted  the 
shallow  pond;  partridges  still  frequented  the  alders 
and  willows  across  her  pasture;  fireflies  sailed  through 
the  summer  night;  and  the  crows  congregated  in  the 
evening  woods  and  talked  over  the  events  of  the 
day. 

"And  my  cat?  You  wrote  that  you  would  take  care 
of  Adoniram." 

"Adoniram  is  an  aged  patriarch  and  occupies  the 
place  of  honour  in  my  father's  house,"  he  said. 

"He  is  well?" 

"Oh,  yes.     He  prefers  his  food  cut  finely,  that  is  all." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  will  live  very  long." 

"He's  pretty  old,"  admitted  Neeland. 

She  sighed  and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  kitten 
in  the  garden.  And,  after  an  interval  of  silence: 

"Our  plot  in  the  cemetery — is  it — pretty?" 

"It  is  beautiful,"  he  said,  "under  the  great  trees.  It 
is  well  cared  for.  I  had  them  plant  the  shrubs  and 
flowers  you  mentioned  in  the  list  you  sent  me." 

"Thank  you."  She  lifted  her  eyes  again  to  him.  "I 
wonder  if  you  realise  how — how  splendid  you  have  al 
ways  been  to  me." 

Surprised,  he  reddened,  and  said  awkwardly  that  he 
had  done  nothing.  Where  was  the  easy,  gay  and  debo- 
naire  assurance  of  this  fluent  young  man?  He  was 
finding  nothing  to  say  to  Rue  Carew,  or  saying  what 

317 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  said  as  crudely  and  uncouthly  as  any  haymaker  in 
Gayfield. 

He  looked  up,  exasperated,  and  met  her  eyes 
squarely.  And  Rue  Carew  blushed. 

They  both  looked  elsewhere  at  once,  but  in  the  girl's 
breast  a  new  pulse  beat ;  a  new  instinct  stirred,  blindly 
importuning  her  for  recognition;  a  new  confusion 
threatened  the  ordered  serenity  of  her  mind,  vaguely 
menacing  it  with  unaccustomed  questions. 

Then  the  instinct  of  self-command  returned;  she 
found  composure  with  an  effort. 

"You  haven't  asked  me,"  she  said,  "about  my  work. 
Would  you  like  to  know?" 

He  said  he  would;  and  she  told  him — chary  of  self- 
praise,  yet  eager  that  he  should  know  that  her  masters 
had  spoken  well  of  her. 

"And  you  know,"  she  said,  ''every  week,  now,  I  con 
tribute  a  drawing  to  the  illustrated  paper  I  wrote  to 
you  about.  I  sent  one  off  yesterday.  But,"  and  she 
laughed  shyly,  "my  nostrils  are  no  longer  filled  with 
pride,  because  I  am  not  contented  with  myself  any 
more.  I  wish  to  do — oh,  so  much  better  work !" 

"Of  course.  Contentment  in  creative  work  means 
that  we  have  nothing  more  to  create." 

She  nodded  and  smiled: 

"The  youngest  born  is  the  most  tenderly  cherished — 
until  a  new  one  comes.  It  is  that  way  with  me;  I  am 
all  love  and  devotion  and  tenderness  and  self-sacrifice 
while  fussing  over  my  youngest.  Then  a  still  younger 
comes,  and  I  become  like  a  heartless  cat  and  drive  away 
all  progeny  except  the  newly  born." 

She  sighed  and  smiled  and  looked  up  at  him: 

"It  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose — that  is,  if  one's  go 
ing  to  have  more  progeny." 

318 


TOGETHER 


"It's  our  penalty  for  producing.  Only  the  newest 
counts.  And  those  to  come  are  to  be  miracles.  But 
they  never  are." 

She  nodded  seriously. 

"When  there  is  a  better  light  I  should  like  to  show 
you  some  of  my  studies,"  she  ventured.  "No,  not  now. 
I  am  too  vain  to  risk  anything  except  the  kindest  of 
morning  lights.  Because  I  do  hope  for  your  ap 
proval 

"I  know  they're  good,"  he  said.  And,  half  laugh 
ingly  :  "I'm  beginning  to  find  out  that  you're  a  rather 
wonderful  and  formidable  and  overpowering  girl,  Ru- 
hannah." 

"You  don't  think  so!"  she  exclaimed,  enchanted. 
"Do  you?  Oh,  dear!  Then  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  show 

you  my  pictures  and  set  you  right  immediately 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.     "I'll  get  them;  I'll  be  only  a 
moment 

She  was  gone  before  he  discovered  anything  to  say, 
leaving  him  to  walk  up  and  down  the  deserted  room 
and  think  about  her  as  clearly  as  his  somewhat  dislo 
cated  thoughts  permitted,  until  she  returned  with  both 
arms  full  of  portfolios,  boards,  and  panels. 

"Now,"  she  said  with  a  breathless  smile,  "you  may 
mortify  my  pride  and  rebuke  my  vanity.  I  deserve  it ; 
I  need  it;  but  Oh! — don't  be  too  severe ' 

"Are  you  serious  ?"  he  asked,  looking  up  in  astonish 
ment  from  the  first  astonishing  drawing  in  colour  which 
he  held  between  his  hands. 

"Serious?  Of  course '  She  met  his  eyes  anx 
iously,  then  her  own  became  incredulous  and  the  swift 
colour  dyed  her  face. 

"Do  you  like  my  work?"  she  asked  in  a  fainter 
voice. 

319 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Like  it !"  He  continued  to  stare  at  the  bewildering 
grace  and  colour  of  the  work,  turned  to  another  and 
lifted  it  to  the  light: 

"What's  this?"  he  demanded. 

"A  monotype." 

"You  did  it?" 

"Y-yes." 

He  seemed  unable  to  take  his  eyes  from  it — from  the 
exquisite  figures  there  in  the  sun  on  the  bank  of  the 
brimming  river  under  an  iris-tinted  April  sky. 

"What  do  you  call  it,  Rue?" 

"Baroque." 

He  continued  to  scrutinise  it  in  silence,  then  drew 
another  carton  prepared  for  oil  from  the  sheaf  on  the 
sofa. 

Over  autumn  woods,  in  a  windy  sky,  high-flying  crows 
were  buffeted  and  blown  about.  From  the  stark  trees 
a  few  phantom  leaves  clung,  fluttering;  and  the  whole 
scene  was  possessed  by  sinuous,  whirling  forms — mere 
glimpses  of  supple,  exquisite  shapes  tossing,  curling, 
flowing  through  the  naked  woodland.  A  delicate  fin 
ger  caught  at  a  dead  leaf  here ;  there  frail  arms  clutched 
at  a  bending,  wind-tossed  bough ;  grey  sky  and  ghostly 
forest  were  obsessed,  bewitched  by  the  winnowing,  driv 
ing  torrent  of  airy,  half  seen  spirits. 

"The  Winds,"  he  said  mechanically. 

He  looked  at  another — a  sketch  of  the  Princess  Nai'a. 
And  somehow  it  made  him  think  of  vast  skies  and  end 
less  plains  and  the  tumult  of  surging  men  and  rattling 
lances. 

"A  Cossack,"  he  said,  half  to  himself.  "I  never  be 
fore  realised  it."  And  he  laid  it  aside  and  turned  to 
the  next. 

"I  haven't  brought  any  life  studies  or  school  draw- 
320 


TOGETHER 

ings,"  she  said.  "I  thought  I'd  just  show  you  the — 
the  results  of  them  and  of — of  whatever  is  in  me." 

"I'm  just  beginning  to  understand  what  is  in  you," 
he  said. 

"Tell  me — what  is  it?"  she  asked,  almost  timidly. 

"Tell  you?"  He  rose,  stood  by  the  window  looking 
out,  then  turned  to  her : 

"What  can  /  tell  you?"  he  added  with  a  short  laugh. 
"What  have  I  to  say  to  a  girl  who  can  do — these — 
after  two  years  abroad?" 

Sheer  happiness  kept  her  silent.  She  had  not  dared 
hope  for  such  approval.  Even  now  she  dared  not  per 
mit  herself  to  accept  it. 

"I  have  so  much  to  say,"  she  ventured,  "and  such  an 
appalling  amount  of  work  before  I  can  learn  to  say 
it  " 

1L 

"Your  work  is— stunning !"  he  said  bluntly. 

"You  don't  think  so!"  she  exclaimed  incredulously. 

"Indeed  I  do !  Look  at  what  you  have  done  in  two 
years.  Yes,  grant  all  your  aptitude  and  talents,  just 
10ok  what  you've  accomplished  and  where  you  are! 
Look  at  you  yourself,  too — what  a  stunning,  bewilder 
ing  sort  of  girl  you've  developed  into!" 

"Jim  Neeland!" 

"Certainly,  Jim  Neeland,  of  Neeland's  Mills,  who 
has  had  years  more  study  than  you  have,  more  years 
of  advantage,  and  who  now  is  an  illustrator  without 
anything  in  particular  to  distinguish  him  from  the  sev 
eral  thousand  other  American  illustrators 

"Jim !     Your  work  is  charming !" 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  I  have  everything  you  ever  did !  I  sent  for 
the  magazines  and  cut  them  out;  and  they  are  in  my 

scrapbook " 

321 


THE  DARK  STAR 


She  hesitated,  breathless,  smiling  back  at  him  out  of 
her  beautiful  golden-grey  eyes  as  though  challenging 
him  to  doubt  her  loyalty  or  her  belief  in  him. 

It  was  rather  curious,  too,  for  the  girl  was  unusually 
intelligent  and  discriminating;  and  Neeland's  work  was 
very,  very  commonplace. 

His  face  had  become  rather  sober,  but  the  smile  still 
lurked  on  his  lips. 

"Rue,"  he  said,  "you  are  wonderfully  kind.  But  I'm 
afraid  I  know  about  my  work.  I  can  draw  pretty  well, 
according  to  school  standards ;  and  I  approach  pretty 
nearly  the  same  standards  in  painting.  Probably  that 
is  why  I  became  an  instructor  at  the  Art  League.  But, 
so  far,  I  haven't  done  anything  better  than  what  is 
called  'acceptable.' ' 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  she  said  warmly. 

"It's  very  kind  of  you  not  to."  He  laughed  and 
walked  to  the  window  again,  and  stood  there  looking  out 
across  the  sunny  garden.  "Of  course,"  he  added  over 
his  shoulder,  "I  expect  to  get  along  all  right.  Medi 
ocrity  has  the  best  of  chances,  you  know." 

"You  are  not  mediocre !" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  am.  But  my  work  is.  And,  do 
you  know,"  he  continued  thoughtfully,  "that  is  very 
often  the  case  with  a  man  who  is  better  equipped  to  act 
than  to  tell  with  pen  or  pencil  how  others  act.  I'm 
beginning  to  be  afraid  that  I'm  that  sort,  because  I'm 
afraid  that  I  get  more  enjoyment  out  of  doing  things 
than  in  explaining  with  pencil  and  paint  how  they  are 
done." 

But  Rue  Carew,  seated  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  slowly 
shook  her  head: 

"I  don't  think  that  those  are  the  only  alternatives; 
do  you?" 


"Your  work  is — stunning!"  he  said  bluntly. 


TOGETHER 


"What  other  is  there?" 

She  said,  a  little  shyly : 

"I  think  it  is  all  right  to  do  things  if  you  like ;  make 
exact  pictures  of  how  things  are  done  if  you  choose ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  if  one  really  has  anything  to 
say,  one  should  show  in  one's  pictures  how  things  might 
be  or  ought  to  be.  Don't  you?" 

He  seemed  surprised  and  interested  in  her  logic,  and 
she  took  courage  to  speak  again  in  her  pretty,  depre 
cating  way: 

"If  the  function  of  painting  and  literature  is  to  re 
flect  reality,  a  mirror  would  do  as  well,  wouldn't  it? 
But  to  reflect  what  might  be  or  what  ought  to  be  re 
quires  something  more,  doesn't  it?" 

"Imagination.     Yes." 

"A  mind,  anyway.  .  .  .  That  is  what  I  have  thought ; 
but  I'm  not  at  all  sure  I  am  right." 

"I  don't  know.  The  mind  ought  to  be  a  mirror  re 
flecting  only  the  essentials  of  reality." 

"And  that  requires  imagination,  doesn't  it?"  she 
asked.  "You  see  you  have  put  it  much  better  than  I 
have." 

"Have  I?"  he  returned,  smiling.  "After  a  while 
you'll  persuade  me  that  I  possess  your  imagination, 
Rue.  But  I  don't." 

"You  do,  Jim— 

"I'm  sorry;  I  don't.  You  construct,  I  copy;  you 
create,  I  ring  changes  on  what  already  is ;  you  dissect, 
I  skate  over  the  surface  of  things — Oh,  Lord !  I  don't 
know  what's  lacking  in  me !"  he  added  with  gay  pre 
tence  of  despair  which  possibly  was  less  feigned  than 
real.  "But  I  know  this,  Rue  Carew!  I'd  rather  ex 
perience  something  interesting  than  make  a  picture  of 
it.  And  I  suppose  that  confession  is  fatal." 

323 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Why,  Jim?" 

"Because  with  me  the  pleasures  of  reality  are  substi 
tuted  for  the  pleasures  of  imagination.  Not  that  I 
don't  like  to  draw  and  paint.  But  my  ambition  in 
painting  is  and  always  has  been  bounded  by  the  visible. 
And,  although  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  apprecia 
tion — from  understanding  and  admiring  your  work,  for 
example — it  sets  an  impregnable  limit  to  any  such 
aspiration  on  my  part — 

His  mobile  and  youthful  features  had  become  very 
grave ;  he  stood  a  moment  with  lowered  head  as  though 
what  he  was  thinking  of  depressed  him ;  then  the  quick 
smile  came  into  his  face  and  cleared  it,  and  he  said 
gaily : 

"I'm  an  artistic  Dobbin;  a  reliable,  respectable  sort 
of  Fido  on  whom  editors  can  depend ;  that's  all.  Don't 
feel  sorry  for  me,"  he  added,  laughing;  "my  work  will 
be  very  much  in  demand." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EN  FAMILLE 

THE  Princess  Mistchenka  came  leisurely  and  grace 
fully  downstairs  a  little  before  eight  that  evening,  much 
pleased  with  her  hair,  complexion,  and  gown. 

She  found  Neeland  alone  in  the  music-room,  standing 
in  the  attitude  of  the  conventional  Englishman  with  his 
back  to  the  fireless  grate  and  his  hands  clasped  loosely 
behind  him,  waiting  to  be  led  out  and  fed. 

The  direct  glance  of  undisguised  admiration  with 
which  he  greeted  the  Princess  Nai'a  confirmed  the  im 
pression  she  herself  had  received  from  her  mirror,  and 
brought  an  additional  dash  of  colour  into  her  delicate 
brunette  face. 

"Is  there  any  doubt  that  you  are  quite  the  prettiest 
ob jet  d'art  in  Paris  ?"  he  enquired  anxiously,  taking  her 
hand;  and  her  dark  eyes  were  very  friendly  as  he  sa 
luted  her  finger-tips  with  the  reverent  and  slightly  ex 
aggerated  appreciation  of  a  connoisseur  in  sculp 
ture. 

"You  hopeless  Irishman,"  she  laughed.  "It's  fortu 
nate  for  women  that  you're  never  serious,  even  with 
yourself." 

"Princess  Nai'a,"  he  remonstrated,  "can  nothing 
short  of  kissing  you  convince  you  of  my  sincerity 
and " 

"Impudence?"  she  interrupted  smilingly.  "Oh,  yes, 
I'm  convinced,  James,  that,  lacking  other  material, 
you'd  make  love  to  a  hitching  post." 

325 


THE  DARK  STAR 


His  hurt  expression  and  protesting  gesture  appealed 
to  the  universe  against  misinterpretation,  but  the 
Princess  Mistchcnka  laughed  again  unfeelingly,  and 
seated  herself  at  the  piano. 

"Some  day,"  she  said,  striking  a  lively  chord  or  two, 
"I  hope  you'll  catch  it,  young  man.  You're  altogether 
too  free  and  easy  with  your  feminine  friends.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  think  of  Rue  Carew?" 

"An  astounding  and  enchanting  transformation.  I 
haven't  yet  recovered  my  breath." 

"When  you  do,  you'll  talk  nonsense  to  the  child,  I 
suppose." 

"Princess !     Have  I  ever 

"You  talk  little  else,  dear  friend,  when  God  sends  a 
pretty  fool  to  listen !"  She  looked  up  at  him  from  the 
keyboard  over  which  her  hands  were  nervously  wander 
ing.  "I  ought  to  know,"  she  said;  "7  also  have  lis 
tened."  She  laughed  carelessly,  but  her  glance  lingered 
for  an  instant  on  his  face,  and  her  mirth  did  not  sound 
quite  spontaneous  to  either  of  them. 

Two  years  ago  there  had  been  an  April  evening  after 
the  opera,  when,  in  taking  leave  of  her  in  her  little 
salon,  her  hand  had  perhaps  retained  his  a  fraction 
of  a  second  longer  than  she  quite  intended ;  and  he  had, 
inadvertently,  kissed  her. 

He  had  thought  of  it  as  a  charming  and  agreeable 
incident;  what  the  Princess  Na'ia  Mistchenka  thought 
of  it  she  never  volunteered.  But  she  so  managed  that 
he  never  again  was  presented  with  a  similar  oppor 
tunity. 

Perhaps  they  both  were  thinking  of  this  rather  an 
cient  episode  now,  for  his  face  was  touched  with  a  mis 
chievously  reminiscent  smile,  and  she  had  lowered  her 
head  a  trifle  over  the  keyboard  where  her  slim,  ivory- 

326 


I 


EN  FAMILLE 


tinted  hands  still  idly  searched  after  elusive  harmonies 
in  the  subdued  light  of  the  single  lamp. 

"There's  a  man  dining  with  us,"  she  remarked,  "who 
has  the  same  irresponsible  and  casual  views  on  life  and 
manners  which  you  entertain.  No  doubt  you'll  get 
along  very  well  together." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"A  Captain  Sengoun,  one  of  our  attaches.  It's  likely 
you'll  find  a  congenial  soul  in  this  same  Cossack  whom 
we  all  call  Alak."  She  added  maliciously:  "His  only 
logic  is  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  he  is  known  as 
Prince  Erlik  among  his  familiars.  Erlik  was  the  Devil, 
you  know " 

He  was  announced  at  that  moment,  and  came  march 
ing  in — a  dark,  handsome,  wiry  young  man  with  win 
ning  black  eyes  and  a  little  black  moustache  just  shad 
owing  his  short  upper  lip — and  a  head  shaped  to  con 
tain  the  devil  himself — the  most  reckless  looking  head, 
Neeiand  thought,  that  he  ever  had  beheld  in  all  his  life. 

But  the  young  fellow's  frank  smile  was  utterly  irre 
sistible,  and  his  straight  manner  of  facing  one,  and  of 
looking  directly  into  the  eyes  of  the  person  he  addressed 
in  his  almost  too  perfect  English,  won  any  listener  im 
mediately. 

He  bowed  formally  over  Princess  Nai'a's  hand,  turned 
squarely  on  Neeiand  when  he  was  named  to  the  Ameri 
can,  and  exchanged  a  firm  clasp  with  him.  Then,  to 
the  Princess : 

"I  am  late?  No?  Fancy,  Princess — that  great 
booby,  Izzet  Bey,  must  stop  me  at  the  club,  and  I  ex 
ceedingly  pressed  to  dress  and  entirely  out  of  humour 
with  all  Turks.  'Eh  bien,  mon  weuxT  said  he  in  his 
mincing  manner  of  a  nervous  pelican,  'they're  warming 
up  the  Balkan  boilers  with  Austrian  pine.  But  I  hear 

327 


THE  DARK  STAR 


they're  full  of  snow.'  And  I  said  to  him:  'Snow  boils 
very  nicely  if  the  fire  is  sufficiently  persistent!'  And  I 
think  Izzet  Bey  will  find  it  so !" — with  a  quick  laugh  of 
explanation  to  Neeland:  "He  meant  Russian  snow, 
you  see;  and  that  boils  beautifully  if  they  keep  on 
stoking  the  boiler  with  Austrian  fuel." 

The  Princess  shrugged: 

"What  schoolboy  repartee!  Why  did  you  answer 
him  at  all,  Alak?" 

"Well,"  explained  the  attache,  "as  I  was  due  here  at 
eight  I  hadn't  time  to  take  him  by  the  nose,  had  I?" 

Rue  Carew  entered  and  went  to  the  Princess  to  make 
amends : 

"I'm  so  sorry  to  be  late!" — turned  to  smile  at  Nee- 
land,  then  offered  her  hand  to  the  Russian.  "How  do 
you  do,  Prince  Erlik?"  she  said  with  the  careless  and 
gay  cordiality  of  old  acquaintance.  "I  heard  you  say 
something  about  Colonel  Izzet  Bey's  nose  as  I  came 
in." 

Captain  Sengoun  bowed  over  her  slender  white  hand : 

"The  Mohammedan  nose  of  Izzet  Bey  is  an  admirable 
bit  of  Oriental  architecture,  Miss  Carew.  Why  should 
it  surprise  you  to  hear  me  extol  its  bizarre  beauty?" 

"Anyway,"  said  the  girl,  "I'm  contented  that  you  left 
devilry  for  revelry."  And,  Marotte  announcing  din 
ner,  she  took  the  arm  of  Captain  Sengoun  as  the 
Princess  took  Neeland's. 

Like  all  Russians  and  some  Cossacks,  Prince  Alak  ate 
and  drank  as  though  it  were  the  most  delightful  experi 
ence  in  life ;  and  he  did  it  with  a  whole-souled  heartiness 
and  satisfaction  that  was  flattering  to  any  hostess  and 
almost  fascinating  to  anybody  observing  him. 

His  teeth  were  even  and  very  white ;  his  appetite 
328 


EN  FAMILLE 


splendid :  when  he  did  his  goblet  the  honour  of  noticing 
it  at  all,  it  was  to  drain  it ;  when  he  resumed  knife  and 
fork  he  used  them  as  gaily,  as  gracefully,  and  as  thor 
oughly  as  he  used  his  sabre  on  various  occasions. 

He  had  taken  an  instant  liking  to  Neeland,  who 
seemed  entirely  inclined  to  return  it;  and  he  talked  a 
great  deal  to  the  American  but  with  a  nice  division  of 
attention  for  the  two  ladies  on  either  side. 

"You  know,  Alak,"  said  the  Princess,  "you  need  not 
torture  yourself  by  trying  to  converse  with  discretion ; 
because  Mr.  Neeland  knows  about  many  matters  which 
concern  us  all." 

"Ah !  That  is  delightful !  And  indeed  I  was  already 
quite  assured  of  Mr.  Neeland's  intelligent  sympathy  in 
the  present  state  of  European  affairs." 

"He's  done  a  little  more  than  express  sympathy," 
remarked  the  Princess ;  and  she  gave  a  humorous  out 
line  of  Neeland's  part  in  the  affair  of  the  olive-wood 
box. 

"Fancy!"  exclaimed  Captain  Sengoun.  "That  im 
pudent  canaille!  Yes;  I  heard  at  the  Embassy  what 
happened  to  that  accursed  box  this  morning.  Of  course 
it  is  a  misfortune,  but  as  for  me,  personally,  I  don't 
care " 

"It  doesn't  happen  to  concern  you  personally,  Prince 
Erlik,"  said  Princess  Nai'a  dryly. 

"No,"  he  admitted,  unabashed  by  the  snub,  "it  does 
not  touch  me.  Cavalry  cannot  operate  on  the  Gal- 
lipoli  Peninsula.  Therefore,  God  be  thanked,  I  shall  be 
elsewhere  when  the  snow  boils." 

Rue  tuned  to  Neeland: 

"His  one  idea  of  diplomacy  and  war  is  a  thousand 
Kuban  Cossacks  at  full  speed." 

"And  that  is  an  excellent  idea,  is  it  not,  Kazatchka  ?w 
329 


THE  DARK  STAR 


he  said,  smiling  impudently  at  the  Princess,  who  only 
laughed  at  the  familiarity. 

"I  hope,"  added  Captain  Sengoun,  "that  I  may  live 
to  gallop  through  a  few  miles  of  diplomacy  at  full 
speed  before  they  consign  me  to  the  Opolchina."  Turn 
ing  to  Neeland,  "The  reserve — the  old  man's  home,  you 
know.  God  forbid!"  And  he  drained  his  goblet  and 
looked  defiantly  at  Rue  Carew. 

"A  Cossack  is  a  Cossack,"  said  the  Princess,  "be  he 
Terek  or  Kuban,  Don  or  Astrachan,  and  they  all  know 
as  much  about  diplomacy  as  Prince  Erlik — or  Izzet 
Bey's  nose.  .  .  .  James,  you  are  unusually  silent,  dear 
friend.  Are  you  regretting  those  papers?" 

"It's  a  pity,"  he  said.  But  he  had  not  been  thinking 
of  the  lost  papers ;  Rue  Carew's  beauty  preoccupied 
him.  The  girl  was  in  black,  which  made  her  skin  daz 
zling,  and  reddened  the  chestnut  colour  of  her  hair. 

Her  superb  young  figure  revealed  an  unsuspected 
loveliness  where  the  snowy  symmetry  of  neck  and  shoul 
ders  and  arms  was  delicately  accented  by  the  filmy 
black  of  her  gown. 

He  had  never  seen  such  a  beautiful  girl;  she  seemed 
more  wonderful,  more  strange,  more  aloof  than  ever. 
And  this  was  what  preoccupied  and  entirely  engaged  his 
mind,  and  troubled  it,  so  that  his  smile  had  a  tendency 
to  become  indefinite  and  his  conversation  mechanical  at 
times. 

Captain  Sengoun  drained  one  more  of  numerous  gob 
lets  ;  gazed  sentimentally  at  the  Princess,  then  with 
equal  sentiment  at  Rue  Carew. 

"As  for  me,"  he  said,  with  a  carelessly  happy  ges 
ture  toward  the  infinite,  "plans  are  plans,  and  if  they're 
stolen,  tant  pis!  But  there  are  always  Tartars  in  Tar- 
tary  and  Turks  in  Turkey.  And,  while  there  are, 

330 


The  snowy  symmetry  of  neck  and  arms 

was  delicately  accented  by  the  filmy 

black  of  her  gown. 


EN  FAMILLE 


there's  hope  for  a  poor  devil  of  a  Cossack  who  wants  to 
say  a  prayer  in  St.  Sophia  before  he's  gathered  to  his 
ancestors." 

"Have  any  measures  been  taken  at  your  Embassy  to 
trace  the  plans?"  asked  Neeland  of  the  Princess. 

"Of  course,"  she  said  simply. 

"Plans,"  remarked  Serigoun,  "are  not  worth  the 
tcherkeske  of  an  honest  Caucasian!  A  Khirgize  pony 
knows  more  than  any  diplomat ;  and  my  magaika  is  bet 
ter  than  both !" 

"All  the  same,"  said  Rue  Carew,  "with  those  stolen 
plans  in  your  Embassy,  Prince  Erlik,  you  might  even 
gallop  a  soima  of  your  Cossacks  to  the  top  of  Achi- 
Baba." 

"By  heaven !  I'd  like  to  try !"  he  exclaimed,  his  black 
eyes  ablaze. 

"There  are  dongas"  observed  the  Princess  dryly. 

"I  know  it.  There  are  dongas  every  twenty  yards ; 
and  Turkish  gorse  that  would  stop  a  charging  bull! 
My  answer  is,  mount!  trot!  gallop!  and  hurrah  for 
Achi-Baba !" 

"Very  picturesque,  Alak.  But  wouldn't  it  be  nicer  to 
be  able  to  come  back  again  and  tell  us  all  about  it?" 

"As  for  that,"  he  said  with  his  full-throated,  engag 
ing  laugh,  "no  need  to  worry,  Princess,  for  the  news 
papers  would  tell  the  story.  What  is  this  Gallipoli 
country,  anyway,  that  makes  our  Chancellery  wag  its 
respected  head  and  frown  and  whisper  in  corners  and 
take  little  notes  on  its  newly  laundered  cuffs? 

"I  know  the  European  and  Asiatic  shores  with  their 
forts — Kilid  Bahr,  Chimilik,  Kum  Kale,  Dardanos.  I 
know  what  those  Germans  have  been  about  with  their 
barbed  wire  and  mobile  mortar  batteries.  What  do  we 
want  of  their  plans,  then " 


331 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Nothing,  Prince  Erlik!"  said  Rue,  laughing.  "It 
suffices  that  you  be  appointed  adviser  in  general  to  his 
majesty  the  Czar." 

Sengoun  laughed  with  all  his  might. 

"And  an  excellent  thing  that  would  be,  Miss  Carew. 
What  we  need  in  Russia,"  he  added  with  a  bow  to  the 
Princess,  "are,  first  of  all,  more  Kazatchkee,  then  my 
self  to  execute  any  commands  with  which  my  incom 
parable  Princess  might  deign  to  honour  me." 

"Then  I  command  you  to  go  and  smoke  cigarettes  in 
the  music-room  and  play  some  of  your  Cossack  songs 
on  the  piano  for  Mr.  Neeland  until  Miss  Carew  and  I 
rejoin  you,"  said  the  Princess,  rising. 

At  the  door  there  was  a  moment  of  ceremony;  then 
Sengoun,  passing  his  arm  through  Neeland's  with  boy 
ish  confidence  that  his  quickly  given  friendship  was  wel 
come,  sauntered  off  to  the  music-room  where  presently 
he  was  playing  the  piano  and  singing  some  of  the  en 
trancing  songs  of  his  own  people  in  a  voice  that,  culti 
vated,  might  have  made  a  fortune  for  him: 


"We  are  but  horsemen, 
And  God  is   great. 
We  hunt  on  hill  and  fen 
The  fierce  Kerait, 
Naiman  and  Eighur, 
Tartar  and  Khiounnou, 
Leopard  and  Tiger 
Flee  at  our  view-halloo; 
We  are  but  horsemen 
Cleansing  the  hill  and  fen 
Where  wild  men  hide — 
Wild  beasts  abide, 
Mongol  and  Bai'aghod, 
Turkoman,  Taidjigod, 
Each  in  his  den. 

332 


EN  FAMILLE 


The  skies  are  blue, 

The  plains  are  wide, 

Over  the  fens  the  horsemen  ride!" 

Still  echoing  the  wild  air,  and  playing  with  both 
hands  in  spite  of  the  lighted  cigarette  between  his  fin 
gers,  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  Neeland : 

"A  very  old,  old  song,"  he  explained,  "made  in  the 
days  of  the  great  invasion  when  all  the  world  was  fight 
ing  anybody  who  would  fight  back.  I  made  it  into  Eng 
lish.  It's  quite  nice,  I  think." 

His  nai've  pleasure  in  his  own  translation  amused 
Neeland  immensely,  and  he  said  that  he  considered  it  a 
fine  piece  of  verse. 

"Yes,"  said  Sengoun,  "but  you  ought  to  hear  a  love 
song  I  made  out  of  odd  fragments  I  picked  up  here  and 
there.  I  call  it  'Samarcamd ';  or  rather  'Samarcand 
MahjouzehS  which  means,  'Samarcand  the  Well 
Guarded' : 

"  'Outside  my  guarded  door 

Whose  voice  repeats  my  name?' 
'The  voice  thou  hast  heard  before 
Under  the  white  moon's  flame! 
And  thy  name  is  my  song ;  and  my  song  is  ever  the  same  I* 

"  'How  many  warriors,  dead, 
Have  sung  the  song  you  sing? 
Some  by  an  arrow  were  sped; 
Some  by  a  dagger's  sting.' 
'Like  a  bird  in  the  night  is  my  song — a  bird  on  the  wing !' 

"  'Ahmed  and  Yucouf  bled ! 
A  dead  king  blocks  my  door!' 
'If  thy  halls  and  walls  be  red, 
Shall  Samarcand  ask  more? 

Or  my  song  shall  cleanse  thy  house  or  my  heart's  blood 
foul  thy  floor!' 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"  'Now  hast  thou  conquered  me! 
Humbly  thy  captive,   I. 
My  soul  escapes  to  thee; 
My  body  here  must  lie; 

Ride! — with  thy  song,  and  my  soul  in  thy  arms;  and 
let  me  die/  " 

Sengoun,  still  playing,  flung  over  his  shoulder: 

"A  Tartar  song  from  the  Turcoman.  I  borrowed  it 
and  put  new  clothes  on  it.  Nice,  isn't  it?" 

"Enchanting!"  replied  Neeland,  laughing  in  spite  of 
himself. 

Rue  Carew,  with  her  snowy  shoulders  and  red-gold 
hair,  came  drifting  in,  consigning  them  to  their  seats 
with  a  gesture,  and  giving  them  to  understand  that  she 
had  come  to  hear  the  singing. 

So  Sengoun  continued  his  sketchy,  haphazard  recital, 
waving  his  cigarette  now  and  then  for  emphasis,  and 
conversing  frequently  over  his  shoulder  while  Rue  Ca 
rew  leaned  on  the  piano  and  gravely  watched  his 
nimble  fingers  alternately  punish  and  caress  the  key 
board. 

After  a  little  while  the  Princess  Mistchenka  came  in 
saying  that  she  had  letters  to  write.  They  conversed, 
however,  for  nearly  an  hour  before  she  rose,  and  Cap 
tain  Sengoun  gracefully  accepted  his  conge. 

"I'll  walk  with  you,  if  you  like,"  suggested  Neeland. 

"With  pleasure,  my  dear  fellow !  The  night  is  beau 
tiful,  and  I  am  just  beginning  to  wake  up." 

"Ask  Marotte  to  give  you  a  key,  then,"  suggested  the 
Princess,  going.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  however,  she 
paused  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  Captain  Sengoun 
in  a  low  voice;  and  Neeland,  returning  with  his  latch 
key,  went  over  to  where  Rue  stood  by  the  lamplit  table 
absently  looking  over  an  evening  paper. 

334 


EN  FAMILLE 


As  he  came  up  beside  her,  the  girl  lifted  her  beautiful, 
golden-grey  eyes. 

"Are  you  going  out?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  I'd  walk  a  bit  with  Captain  Sen- 
goun." 

"It's  rather  a  long  distance  to  the  Russian  Embassy. 

Besides "  She  hesitated,  and  he  waited.  She 

glanced  absently  over  the  paper  for  a  moment,  then, 
not  raising  her  eyes :  "I'm — I — the  theft  of  that  box 
today — perhaps  my  nerves  have  suffered  a  little — but 
do  you  think  it  quite  prudent  for  you  to  go  out  alone 
at  night?" 

"Why,  I  am  going  out  with  Captain  Sengoun !"  he 
said,  surprised  at  her  troubled  face. 

"But  you  will  have  to  return  alone." 

He  laughed,  but  they  both  had  flushed  a  little. 

Had  it  been  any  other  woman  in  the  world,  he  had 
not  hesitated  gaily  to  challenge  the  shy  and  charming 
solicitude  expressed  in  his  behalf — make  of  it  his  capi 
tal,  his  argument  to  force  that  pretty  duel  to  which 
one  day,  all  youth  is  destined. 

He  found  himself  now  without  a  word  to  say,  nor 
daring  to  entertain  any  assumption  concerning  .the 
words  she  had  uttered. 

Dumb,  awkward,  afraid,  he  became  conscious  that 
something  in  this  young  girl  had  silenced  within  him 
any  inclination  to  gay  effrontery,  any  talent  for  casual 
gallantry.  Her  lifted  eyes,  with  their  clear,  half  shy 
regard,  had  killed  all  fluency  of  tongue  in  him — slain 
utterly  that  light  good-humour  with  which  he  had  en 
countered  women  heretofore. 

He  said: 

"I  hadn't  thought  myself  in  any  danger  whatever. 
Is  there  any  reason  for  me  to  expect  further  trouble?" 

335 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Hue  raised  her  troubled  eyes : 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  they  might  think  you- 
capable  of  redrawing  parts  of  the  stolen  plans  from 
memory?" 

"It  had  never  occurred  to  me,"  he  admitted,  sur 
prised.  "But  I  believe  I  could  remember  a  little  about 
one  or  two  of  the  more  general  maps." 

"The  Princess  means  to  ask  you,  tomorrow,  to  draw 
for  her  what  you  can  remember.  And  that  made  me 
think  about  you  now — whether  the  others  might  not 
suspect  you  capable  of  remembering  enough  to  do  them 
harm.  .  .  .  And  so — do  you  think  it  prudent  to  go 
out  tonight?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  quite  sincerely,  "it  is  all  right. 
You  see  I  know  Paris  very  well." 

She  did  not  look  convinced,  but  Sengoun  came  up 
and  she  bade  them  both  good  night  and  went  away  with 
the  Princess  Mistchenka. 

As,  arm  in  arm,  the  two  young  men  sauntered  around 
the  corner  of  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or,  two  men  who  had  been 
sitting  on  a  marble  bench  beside  the  sun-dial  fountain 
rose  and  strolled  after  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
JARDIN  RUSSE 

AT  midnight  the  two  young  men  had  not  yet  parted. 
For,  as  Sengoun  explained,  the  hour  for  parting  was 
already  past,  and  it  was  too  late  to  consider  it  now. 
And  Neeland  thought  so,  too,  what  with  the  laughter 
and  the  music,  and  the  soft  night  breezes  to  counsel 
folly,  and  the  city's  haunting  brilliancy  stretching  away 
in  bewitching  perspectives  still  unexplored. 

From  every  fairy  lamp  the  lustrous  capital  signalled 
to  youth  her  invitation,  her  challenge,  and  her  menace. 
Like  some  jewelled  sorceress — some  dreaming  Circe  by 
the  river  bank,  pondering  new  spells — so  Paris  lay  in 
all  her  mystery  and  beauty  under  the  July  stars. 

Sengoun,  his  arm  through  Neeland's,  had  become  af 
fectionately  confidential.  He  explained  that  he  really 
was  a  nocturnal  creature ;  that  now  he  had  completely 
waked  up ;  that  his  habits  were  due  to  a  passion  for 
astronomy,  and  that  the  stars  he  had  discovered  at  odd 
hours  of  the  early  morning  were  more  amazing  than 
any  celestial  bodies  ever  before  identified. 

But  Neeland,  whose  head  and  heart  were  already 
occupied,  declined  to  study  any  constellations ;  and  they 
drifted  through  the  bluish  lustre  of  white  arc-lights 
and  the  clustered  yellow  glare  of  incandescent  lamps 
toward  a  splash  of  iridescent  glory  among  the  chestnut 
trees,  where  music  sounded  and  tables  stood  amid  flow 
ers  and  grass  and  little  slender  fountains  which  bal 
anced  silver  globes  upon  their  jets. 

337 


THE  DARK  STAR 


The  waiters  were  in  Russian  peasant  dress ;  the  or 
chestra  was  Russian  gipsy ;  the  bill  of  fare  was  Rus 
sian  ;  and  there  was  only  champagne  to  be  had. 

Balalaika  orchestra  and  spectators  were  singing  some 
evidently  familiar  song — one  of  those  rushing,  clatter 
ing,  clashing  choruses  of  the  Steppes;  and  Sengoun 
sang  too,  with  all  his  might,  when  he  and  Neeland  were 
seated,  which  was  thirsty  work. 

Two  fascinating  Russian  gipsy  girls  were  dancing — 
slim,  tawny,  supple  creatures  in  their  scarlet  and  their 
jingling  bangles.  After  a  deafening  storm  of  applause, 
their  flashing  smiles  swept  the  audience,  and,  linking 
arms,  they  sauntered  off  between  the  tables  under  the 
trees. 

"I  wish  to  dance,"  remarked  Sengoun.  "My  legs 
will  kick  over  something  if  I  don't." 

They  were  playing  an  American  dance — a  sort  of 
skating  step ;  people  rose ;  couple  after  couple  took  the 
floor ;  and  Sengoun  looked  around  for  a  partner.  He 
discovered  no  eligible  partner  likely  to  favour  him  with 
out  a  quarrel  with  her  escort ;  and  he  was  debating  with 
Neeland  whether  a  row  would  be  worth  while,  when  the 
gipsy  girls  sauntered  by. 

"Oh,"  he  said  gaily,  "a  pretty  Tzigane  can  save  my 
life  if  she  will!" 

And  the  girls  laughed  and  Sengoun  led  one  of  them 
out  at  a  reckless  pace. 

The  other  smiled  and  looked  at  Neeland,  and,  seating 
herself,  leaned  on  the  table  watching  the  whirl  on  the 
floor. 

"Don't  you  dance?"  she  asked,  with  a  sidelong  glance 
out  of  her  splendid  black  eyes. 

"Yes;  but  I'm  likely  to  do  most  of  my  dancing  on 
your  pretty  feet." 

338 


JARDIN  RUSSE 


"Merci!    In  that  case  I  prefer  a  cigarette." 

She  selected  one  from  his  case,  lighted  it,  folded  her 
arms  on  the  table,  and  continued  to  gaze  at  the  dancers. 

"I'm  tired  tonight,"  she  remarked. 

"You  dance  beautifully." 

"Thank  you." 

Sengoun,  flushed  and  satisfied,  came  back  with  his 
gipsy  partner  when  the  music  ceased. 

"Now  I  hope  we  may  have  some  more  singing!"  he 
exclaimed,  as  they  seated  themselves  and  a  waiter  filled 
their  great,  bubble-shaped  glasses. 

And  he  did  sing  at  the  top  of  his  delightful  voice 
when  the  balalaikas  swept  out  into  a  ringing  and  fa 
miliar  song,  and  the  two  gipsy  girls  sang,  too — laughed 
and  sang,  holding  the  frosty  goblets  high  in  the  spark 
ling  light. 

It  was  evident  ho  Neeland  that  the  song  was  a  fa 
vourite  one  with  Russians.  Sengoun  was  quite  over 
come;  they  all  touched  goblets. 

"Brava,  my  little  Tziganes  !"  he  said  with  happy  emo 
tion.  "My  little  compatriots !  My  little  tawny  pan 
thers  of  the  Caucasus !  What  do  you  call  yourselves 
in  this  bandbox  of  a  country  where  two  steps  backward 
take  you  across  any  frontier?" 

His  dancing  partner  laughed  till  her  sequins  jingled 
from  throat  to  ankle: 

"They  call  us  Fifi  and  Nini,"  she  replied.  "Ask  your 
self  why !" 

"For  example,"  added  the  other  girl,  "we  rise  from 
this  table  and  thank  you.  There  is  nothing  further. 
C'est  ftni — c'est  Fifi — Nini — comprenez-vous,  Prince 
ErUk?" 

"Hi!  What?"  exclaimed  Sengoun.  "I'm  known,  it 
appears,  even  to  that  devilish  name  of  mine!" 

339 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Everybody  laughed. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  more  soberly,  "it's  a  gipsy's 
trade  to  know  everybody  and  everything.  Tiens!" 
He  slapped  a  goldpiece  on  the  table.  "A  kiss  apiece 
against  a  louis  that  you  don't  know  my  comrade's  name 
and  nation !" 

The  girl  called  Nini  laughed: 

"We're  quite  willing  to  kiss  you,  Prince  Erlik,  but 
a  louis  d'or  is  not  a  copper  penny.  And  your  comrade 
is  American  and  his  name  is  Tchames." 

"James !"  exclaimed  Sengoun. 

"I  said  so— Tchames." 

"What  else?" 

"Nilan." 

"Neeland?" 

"I  said  so." 

Sengoun  placed  the  goldpiece  in  Nini's  hand  and 
looked  at  Neeland  with  an  uncomfortable  laugh. 

"I  ought  to  know  a  gipsy,  but  they  always  astonish 
me,   these   Tziganes.      Tell   us   some   more,   Nini— 
He  beckoned  a  waiter  and  pointed  indignantly  at  the 
empty  goblets. 

The  girls,  resting  their  elbows  on  the  tables,  framed 
their  faces  with  slim  and  dusky  hands,  and  gazed  at 
Sengoun  out  of  humorous,  half-veiled  eyes. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know,  Prince  Erlik?"  they 
asked  mockingly. 

"Well,  for  example,  is  my  country  really  mobilis- 
ing?" 

"Since  the  twenty-fifth." 

"Tiens!  And  old  Papa  Kaiser  and  the  Clown  Prince 
Footit — what  do  they  say  to  that?" 

"It  must  be  stopped." 

"What!      Sang    dieu!      We    must    stop    mobilising 
340 


JARDIN  EUSSE 


against  the  Austrians?  But  we  are  not  going  to  stop, 
you  know,  while  Francis  Joseph  continues  to  pull  faces 
at  poor  old  Servian  Peter !" 

Neeland  said: 

"The  evening  paper  has  it  that  Austria  is  more  rea 
sonable  and  that  the  Servian  affair  can  be  arranged. 
There  will  be  no  war,"  he  added  confidently. 

"There  will  be  war,"  remarked  Nini  with  a  shrug  of 
her  bare,  brown  shoulders  over  which  her  hair  and  her 
gilded  sequins  fell  in  a  bright  mass. 

"Why?"  asked  Neeland,  smiling. 

"Why?  Because,  for  one  thing,  you  have  brought 
war  into  Europe!" 

"Come,  now!  No  mystery!"  said  Sengoun  gaily. 
"Explain  how  my  comrade  has  brought  war  into  Eu 
rope,  you  little  fraud !" 

Nini  looked  at  Neeland: 

"What  else  except  papers  was  in  the  box  you  lost?" 
she  asked  coolly. 

Neeland,  very  red  and  uncomfortable,  gazed  back  at 
the  girl  without  replying;  and  she  laughed  at  him, 
showing  her  white  teeth. 

"You  brought  the  Yellow  Devil  into  Europe,  M'sieu 
Nilan !  Erlik,  the  Yellow  Demon.  When  he  travels 
there  is  unrest.  Where  he  rests  there  is  war !" 

"You're  very  clever,"  retorted  Neeland,  quite  out  of 
countenance. 

"Yes,  we  are,"  said  Fifi,  with  her  quick  smile.  "Arid 
who  but  M'sieu  Nilan  should  admit  it?" 

"Very  clever,"  repeated  Neeland,  still  amazed  and 
profoundly  uneasy.  "But  this  Yellow  Devil  you  say  I 
brought  into  Europe  must  have  been  resting  in 
America,  then.  And,  if  so,  why  is  there  no  war 
there?" 

341 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"There  would  have  been — with  Mexico.  You  brought 
the  Yellow  Demon  here,  but  just  in  time!" 

"All  right.  Grant  that,  then.  But — perhaps  he  was 
a  long  time  resting  in  America.  What  about  that, 
pretty  gipsy?" 

The  girl  shrugged  again: 

"Is  your  memory  so  poor,  M'sieu  Nilan?  What  has 
your  country  done  but  fight  since  Erlik  rested  among 
your  people?  You  fought  in  Samoa;  in  Hawaii;  your 
warships  went  to  Chile,  to  Brazil^  to  San  Domingo; 
the  blood  of  your  soldiers  and  sailors  was  shed  in  Hayti, 
in  Cuba,  in  the  Philippines,  in  China " 

"Good  Lord !"  exclaimed  Neeland.  "That  girl  is 
dead  right!" 

Sengoun  threw  back  his  handsome  head  and  laughed 
without  restraint;  and  the  gipsies  laughed,  too,  their 
beautiful  eyes  and  teeth  flashing  under  their  black  cas 
cades  of  unbound  hair. 

"Show  me  your  palms,"  said  Nini,  and  drew  Sen- 
goun's  and  Neeland's  hands  across  the  table,  holding 
them  in  both  of  hers. 

"See,"  she  added,  nudging  Fifi  with  her  shoulder, 
"both  of  them  born  under  the  Dark  Star!  It  is  war 
they  shall  live  to  see — war !" 

"Under  the  Dark  Star,  Erlik,"  repeated  the  other 
girl,  looking  closely  into  the  two  palms,  "and  there  is 
war  there!" 

"And  death?"  inquired  Sengoun  gaily.  "I  don't 
care,  if  I  can  lead  a  sotnia  up  Achi-Baba  and  twist  the 
gullet  of  the  Padisha  before  I  say  Fifi — Nini !" 

The  gipsies  searched  his  palm  with  intent  and  bril 
liant  gaze. 

"Zut!"  said  Fifi.  "Je  ne  vois  rien  que  dTamour  et 
la  guerre  aux  dames!" 

342 


JARDIN  RUSSE 


"T'en  fais  pas!"  laughed  Sengoun.  "I  ask  no  further 
favour  of  Fortune;  I'll  manage  my  regiment  myself. 
And,  listen  to  me,  Fifi,"  he  added  with  a  frightful 
frown,  "if  the  war  you  predict  doesn't  arrive,  I'll  come 
back  and  beat  you  as  though  you  were  married  to  a 
Turk!" 

While  they  still  explored  his  palm,  whispering  to 
gether  at  intervals,  Sengoun  caught  the  chorus  of  the 
air  which  the  orchestra  was  playing,  and  sang  it  lustily 
and  with  intense  pleasure  to  himself. 

Neeland,  unquiet  to  discover  how  much  these  casual 
strangers  knew  about  his  own  and  intimate  affairs,  had 
become  silent  and  almost  glum. 

But  the  slight  gloom  which  invaded  him  came  from 
resentment  toward  those  people  who  had  followed  him 
from  Brookhollow  to  Paris,  and  who,  in  the  very  mo 
ment  of  victory,  had  snatched  that  satisfaction  from 
him. 

He  thought  of  Kestner  and  of  Breslau — of  Sche 
herazade,  and  the  terrible  episode  in  her  stateroom. 

Except  that  he  had  seized  the  box  in  the  Brookhollow 
house,  there  was  nothing  in  his  subsequent  conduct  on 
which  he  could  plume  himself.  He  could  not  congratu 
late  himself  on  his  wisdom ;  sheer  luck  had  carried  him 
through  as  far  as  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or — mere  chance,  and 
that  capricious  fortune  which  sometimes  convoys  the 
stupid,  fatuous,  and  astigmatic. 

Then  he  thought  of  Rue  Carew.  And,  in  his  bosom, 
an  intense  desire  to  distinguish  himself  began  to  burn. 

If  there  were  any  way  on  earth  to  trace  tha-t  accursed 
box 

He  turned  abruptly  and  looked  at  the  two  gipsies, 
who  had  relinquished  Sangoun's  hand  and  who  were 
still  conversing  together  in  low  tones  while  Sangoun 


THE  DARK  STAR 


beat  time  on  the  jingling  table  tor>  and  sang  joyously 
at  the  top  of  his  baritone  voice : 

"Eh,  zoum — zoum — zoum! 

Bourn — bourn — bourn ! 
Here's    to   the   Artillery 

Gaily   riding  by! 
Fetch   me    a    distillery, 

Let  me  drink  it  dry — • 
Fill  me   full   of  sillery ! 
Here's  to  the  artillery! 

Zoum — zoum — zoum ! 
Bourn — bourn — bourn !" 

"Fifi!" 

"M'sieu?" 

"You're  so  clever !    Where  is  that  Yellow  Devil  now?" 

"Pouf !"  giggled  Fifi.    "On  its  way  to  Berlin,  par  die!" 

"That's  easy  to  say.  Tell  me  something  else  more 
expensive." 

Nini  said,  surprised: 

"What  we  know  is  free  to  Prince  Erlik's  friend.  Did 
you  think  we  sell  to  Russians?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  you  or  where  you  get 
your  information,"  said  Neeland.  "I  suppose  you're 
in  the  Secret  Service  of  the  Russian  Government." 

"Mon  ami,  Nilan,"  said  Fifi,  smiling,  "we  should  feel 
lonely  outside  the  Secret  Service.  Few  in  Europe  are 
outside — few  in  the  world,  fewer  in  the  half-world.  As 
for  us  Tziganes,  who  belong  to  neither,  the  business  of 
everybody  becomes  our  secret  to  sell  for  a  silver  piece 
— but  not  to  Russians  in  the  moment  of  peril!  .  .  . 
Nor  to  their  comrades.  .  .  .  What  do  you  desire  to 
know,  comrade?" 

"Anything,"  he  said  simply,  "that  might  help  me  to 
regain  what  I  have  lost." 

344 


JARDIN  RUSSE 


"And  what  do  you  suppose !"  exclaimed  Fifi,  opening 
her  magnificent  black  eyes  very  wide.  "Did  you  im 
agine  that  nobody  was  paying  any  attention  to  what 
happened  in  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  this  noon?" 

Nini  laughed. 

"The  word  flew  as  fast  as  the  robber's  taxicab.  How 
many  thousand  secret  friends  to  the  Triple  Entente  do 
you  suppose  knew  of  it  half  an  hour  after  it  happened? 
From  the  Trocadero  to  Montparnasse,  from  the  Point 
du  Jour  to  Charenton,  from  the  Bois  to  the  Bievre,  the 
word  flew.  Every  taxicab,  omnibus,  sap'w,  every  ba- 
teau-mouche,  every  train  that  left  any  terminal  was 
watched. 

"Five  embassies  and  legations  were  instantly  under 
redoubled  surveillance ;  hundreds  of  cafes,  bars,  restau 
rants,  hotels;  all  the  theatres,  gardens,  cabarets,  bras 
series. 

"Your  pigs  of  Apaches  are  not  neglected,  va!  But, 
to  my  idea,  they  got  out  of  Paris  before  we  watchers 
knew  of  the  affair  at  all — in  an  automobile,  perhaps — 
perhaps  by  rail.  God  knows,"  said  the  girl,  looking 
absently  at  the  dancing  which  had  begun  again.  "But 
if  we  ever  lay  our  eyes  on  Minna  Minti,  we  wear  toys 
in  our  garters  which  will  certainly  persuade  her  to  take 
a  little  stroll  with  us." 

After  a  silence,  Neeland  said: 

"Is  Minna  Minti  then  so  well  known  ?" 

"Not  at  the  Opera  Comique,"  replied  Fifi  with  a 
shrug,  "but  since  then." 

"An  artiste,  that  woman !"  added  Nini.  "Why  deny 
it?  It  appears  that  she  has  twisted  more  than  one  red 
button  out  of  a  broadcloth  coat." 

"She'll  get  the  Seraglio  medal  for  this  day's  work," 
said  Fifi. 

345 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Or  the  croix-de-1er,"  added  Nini.  "Ah,  zut!  She 
annoys  me." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  place  called  the  Cafe  des 
Bulgars?"  asked  Neeland,  carelessly. 

"Yes." 

"What  sort  of  place  is  it?" 

"Like  any  other." 

"Quite  respectable?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Nini,  smiling.  "One  drinks  good 
beer  there." 

"Munich  beer,"  added  Fifi. 

"Then  it  is  watched?"  asked  Neeland. 

"All  German  cafes  are  watched.  Otherwise,  it  is  not 
suspected." 

Sengoun,  who  had  been  listening,  shook  his  head. 
"There's  nothing  to  interest  us  at  the  Cafe  des  Bul 
gars,"  he  said.  Then  he  summoned  a  waiter  and  pointed 
tragically  at  the  empty  goblets. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS 

THEIR  adieux  to  Fifi  and  Nini  were  elaborate  and 
complicated  by  bursts  of  laughter.  The  Tziganes  rec 
ommended  Captain  Sengoun  to  go  home  and  seek  fur 
ther  adventures  on  his  pillow;  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  gay  babble  of  the  fountain  and  the  persistent  per 
fume  of  flowers,  he  might  have  followed  their  advice. 

It  was  after  the  two  young  men  had  left  the  Jardin 
Russe  that  Captain  Sengoun  positively  but  affection 
ately  refused  to  relinquish  possession  of  Neeland's  arm. 

"Dear  friend,"  he  explained,  "I  am  just  waking  up 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  go  to  bed  for  days  and  days." 

"But  I  do,"  returned  Neeland,  laughing.  "Where  do 
you  want  to  go  now,  Prince  Erlik?" 

The  champagne  was  singing  loudly  in  the  Cossack's 
handsome  head ;  the  distant  brilliancy  beyond  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  riveted  his  roving  eyes. 

"Over  there,"  he  said  joyously.  "Listen,  old  fellow, 
I'll  teach  you  the  skating  step  as  we  cross  the  Place! 
Then,  in  the  first  Bal,  you  shall  try  it  on  the  fairest 
form  since  Helen  fell  and  Troy  burned — or  Troy  fell 
and  Helen  burned — it's  all  the  same,  old  fellow — what 
you  call  fifty-fifty,  eh?" 

Neeland  tried  to  free  his  arm — to  excuse  himself; 
two  policemen  laughed;  but  Sengoun,  linking  his  arm 
more  firmly  in  Neeland's,  crossed  the  Place  in  a  series 
of  Dutch  rolls  and  outer  edges,  in  which  Neeland  was 
compelled  to  join.  The  Russian  was  as  light  and  grace- 

347 


THE  DARK  STAR 


ful  on  his  feet  as  one  of  the  dancers  of  his  own  country ; 
Neeland's  knowledge  of  skating  aided  his  own  less  agile 
steps.  There  was  sympathetic  applause  from  passing 
taxis  and  fiacres;  and  they  might,  apparently,  have  had 
any  number  of  fair  partners  for  the  asking,  along  the 
way,  except  for  Sengoun's  headlong  dive  toward  the 
brightest  of  the  boulevard  lights  beyond. 

In  the  rue  Royal,  however,  Sengoun  desisted  with 
sudden  access  of  dignity,  remarking  that  such  gambols 
were  not  worthy  of  the  best  traditions  of  his  Embassy ; 
and  he  attempted  to  bribe  the  drivers  of  a  couple  of 
hansom  cabs  to  permit  him  and  his  comrade  to  take 
the  reins  and  race  to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 

Failing  in  this,  he  became  profusely  autobiographi 
cal,  informing  Neeland  of  his  birth,  education,  aims, 
aspirations. 

"When  I  was  twelve,"  he  said,  "I  had  known  already 
the  happiness  of  the  battle-shock  against  Kurd,  Mon 
gol,  and  Tartar.  At  eighteen  my  ambition  was  to  slap 
the  faces  of  three  human  monsters.  I  told  everybody 
that  I  was  making  arrangements  to  do  this,  and  I 
started  for  Brusa  after  my  first  monster — Fehim  Ef- 
fendi — but  the  Vali  telegraphed  to  the  Grand  Vizier, 
and  the  Grand  Vizier  ran  to  Abdul  the  Damned,  and 
Abdul  yelled  for  Sir  Nicholas  O'Connor;  and  they 
caught  me  in  the  Pera  Palace  and  handed  me  over  to 
my  Embassy." 

Neeland  shouted  with  laughter: 

"Who  were  the  other  monsters?"  he  asked. 

"The  other  two  whose  countenances  I  desired  to  slap? 
Oh,  one  was  Abdul  Houda,  the  Sultan's  star-reader, 
who  chattered  about  my  Dark  Star  horoscope  in  the 
Yildiz.  And  the  other  was  the  Sultan." 

"Who?" 

348 


THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS 

"Abdul  Hamid." 

"What!    You  wished  to  slap  his  face?" 

"Certainly.  But  Kutchuk  Sai'd  and  Kiamil  Pasha 
requested  me  not  to — accompanied  by  gendarmes." 

"You'd  have  lost  your  life,"  remarked  Neeland. 

"Yes.  But  then  war  would  surely  have  come,  and 
today  my  Emperor  would  have  held  the  Dardanelles 
where  the  Turkish  flag  is  now  flying  over  German  guns 
and  German  gunners." 

He  shook  his  head: 

"Great  mistake  on  my  part,"  he  muttered.  "Should 
have  pulled  Abdul's  lop  ears.  Now,  everything  in  Tur 
key  is  'Yasak'  except  what  Germans  do  and  say;  and 
God  knows  we  are  farther  than  ever  from  St.  Sophia. 
.  .  .  I'm  very  thirsty  with  thinking  so  much,  old  fel 
low.  Did  you  ever  drink  German  champagne?" 

"I  believe  not " 

"Come  on,  then.  You  shall  drink  several  gallons  and 
never  feel  it.  It's  the  only  thing  German  I  could  ever 
swallow." 

"Prince  Erlik,  you  have  had  considerable  refresh 
ment  already." 

"Cop din,  t'en  fais  pas!" 

The  spectacle  of  two  young  fellows  in  evening  dress, 
in  a  friendly  tug-of-war  under  the  lamp-posts  of  the 
Boulevard,  amused  the  passing  populace ;  and  Sengoun, 
noticing  this,  was  inclined  to  mount  a  boulevard  bench 
and  address  the  wayfarers,  but  Neeland  pulled  him 
down  and  persuaded  him  into  a  quieter  street,  the  rue 
Vilna. 

"There's  a  German  place,  now !"  exclaimed  Sengoun, 
delighted. 

And  Neeland,  turning  to  look,  perceived  the  illumi 
nated  sign  of  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars. 

349 


THE  DARK  STAR 


German  champagne  had  now  become  Sengoun's  fixed 
idea ;  nothing  could  dissuade  him  from  it,  nothing  per 
suade  him  into  a  homeward  bound  taxi.  So  Neeland, 
with  a  rather  hazy  idea  that  he  ought  not  to  do  it,  en 
tered  the  cafe  with  Senguon;  and  they  seated  them 
selves  on  a  leather  wall-lounge  before  one  of  the  numer 
ous  marble-topped  tables. 

"Listen,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  his  companion, 
"this  is  a  German  cafe,  and  we  must  be  careful  what 
we  say.  I'm  not  any  too  prudent  and  I  may  forget  this  ; 
but  don't  you!"9 

"Quite  right,  old  fellow!"  replied  Sengoun,  giving 
him  an  owlish  look.  "I  must  never  forget  I'm  a  diplo 
mat  among  these  sales  Boches 

"Be  careful,  Sengoun !  That  expression  is  not  diplo 
matic." 

"Careful  is  the  word,  mon  vieux"  returned  the  other 
loudly  and  cheerfully.  "I'll  bet  you  a  dollar,  three 
kopeks,  and  two  sous  that  I  go  over  there  and  kiss  the 
cashier 

"No  !    Be  a  real  diplomat,  Sengoun !" 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  that  way,  Neeland,  because  she's 
unusually  pretty.  And  we  might  establish  a  triple  en 
tente  until  you  find  some  Argive  Helen  to  quadruple  it. 
Aha !  Here  is  our  German  champagne  !  Positively  the 
only  thing  German  a  Russian  can " 

"Listen!  This  won't  do.  People  are  looking  at 
us " 

"Right,  old  fellow — always  right!  You  know,  Nee 
land,  this  friendship  of  ours  is  the  most  precious,  most 
delightful,  and  most  inspiring  experience  of  my  life. 
Here's  a  full  goblet  to  our  friendship !  Hurrah !  As 
for  Enver  Pasha,  may  Erlik  seize  him !" 

After  they  had  honoured  the  toast,  Sengoun  looked 
350 


THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS 

about  him  pleasantly,  receptive,  ready  for  any  eventu 
ality.  And  observing  no  symptoms  of  any  eventuality 
whatever,  he  suggested  creating  one. 

"Dear  comrade,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  shall  arise  and 
make  an  incendiary  address ' 

"No !" 

"Very  well,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it.  But  there 
is  another  way  to  render  the  evening  agreeable.  You 
see  that  sideboard?"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  huge 
carved  buffet  piled  to  the  ceiling  with  porcelain  and 
crystal.  "What  will  you  wager  that  I  can  not  push  it 
over  with  one  hand?" 

But  Neeland  declined  the  wager  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  and  kept  his  eyes  riveted  on  a  man  who  had 
just  entered  the  cafe.  He  could  see  only  the  stranger's 
well-groomed  back,  but  when,  a  moment  later,  the  man 
turned  to  seat  himself,  Neeland  was  not  surprised  to 
find  himself  looking  at  Doc  Curfoot. 

"Sengoun,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  "that  type  who 
just  came  in  is  an  American  gambler  named  Doc  Cur- 
foot  ;  and  he  is  here  with  other  gamblers  for  the  purpose 
of  obtaining  political  information  for  some  government 
other  than  my  own." 

Sengoun  regarded  the  new  arrival  with  amiable  curi 
osity  : 

"That  worm  ?  Oh,  well,  every  city  in  Europe  swarms 
with  such  maggots,  you  know.  It  would  be  quite  funny 
if  he  tries  any  blandishments  on  us,  wouldn't  it?" 

"He  may.  He's  a  capper.  He's  looking  at  us  now. 
I  believe  he  remembers  having  seen  me  in  the  train." 

"As  for  an  hour  or  two  at  chemin-de-fer,  baccarat, 
or  roulette,"  remarked  Sengoun,  "I  am  not  averse  to 


"Watch  him!     The  waiter  who  is  taking  his  order 
351 


THE  DARK  STAR 


may  know  who  you  are — may  be  telling  that  gam 
bler.  ...  I  believe  he  did!  Now,  let  us  see  what  hap 
pens.  .  .  ." 

Sengoun,  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  an  eventuality, 
blandly  emptied  his  goblet  and  smiled  generally  upon 
everybody. 

"I  hope  he  will  make  our  acquaintance  and  ask  us  to 
play,"  he  said.  "I'm  very  lucky  at  chemin-de-fer.  And 
if  I  lose  I  shall  conclude  that  there  is  trickery.  Which 
would  make  it  very  lively  for  everybody,"  he  added 
with  a  boyish  smile.  But  his  dark  eyes  began  to  glit 
ter  and  he  showed  his  beautiful,  even  teeth  when  he 
laughed. 

"Ha!"  he  said.  "A  little  what  you  call  a  mix-up 
might  not  come  amiss !  That  gives  one  an  appetite ; 
that  permits  one  to  perspire;  that  does  good  to  every 
body  and  makes  one  sleep  soundly !  Shall  we,  as  you 
say  in  America,  start  something?" 

Neeland,  thinking  of  Ali-Baba  and  Golden  Beard  and 
of  their  undoubted  instigation  by  telegraph  of  the 
morning's  robbery,  wondered  whether  the  rendezvous 
of  the  robbers  might  not  possibly  be  here  in  the  Cafe 
des  Bulgars. 

The  gang  of  Americans  in  the  train  had  named  Kest- 
ner,  Breslau,  and  Weishelm — the  one  man  of  the  gang 
whom  he  had  never  seen — as  prospective  partners  in 
this  enterprise. 

Here,  somewhere  in  this  building,  were  their  gambling 
headquarters.  Was  there  any  possible  chance  that  the 
stolen  box  and  its  contents  might  have  been  brought 
here  for  temporary  safety? 

Might  it  not  now  be  hidden  somewhere  in  this  very 
building  by  men  too  cunning  to  risk  leaving  the  city 
when  every  train  and  every  road  would  be  watched 

352 


THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS 

within  an  hour  of  the  time  that  the  robbery  was  com 
mitted  ? 

Leaning  back  carelessly  on  the  lounge  and  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  people  in  the  cafe,  Neeland  imparted 
these  ideas  to  Sengoun  in  a  low  voice — told  him  every 
thing  he  knew  in  regard  to  the  affair,  and  asked  his 
opinion. 

"My  opinion,"  said  Sengoun,  who  was  enchanted  at 
any  prospect  of  trouble,  "is  that  this  house  is  'suspect' 
and  is  worth  searching.  Of  course  the  Prefect  could 
be  notified,  arrangements  made,  and  a  search  by  the 
secret  police  managed.  But,  Neeland,  my  friend,  think 
of  what  pleasure  we  should  be  deprived !" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why  not  search  the  place  ourselves?" 

"How?" 

"Well,  of  course,  we  could  be  picturesque,  go  to  my 
Embassy,  and  fill  our  pockets  with  automatic  pistols, 
and  come  back  here  and — well,  make  them  stand  around 
and  see  how  high  they  could  reach  with  both  hands." 

Neeland  laughed. 

"That  would  be  a  funny  jest,  wouldn't  it?"  said 
Sengoun. 

"Very  funny.     But "     He  nudged  Sengoun  and 

directed  his  attention  toward  the  terrace  outside,  where 
waiters  were  already  removing  the  little  iron  tables 
and  the  chairs,  and  the  few  lingering  guests  were  com 
ing  inside  the  cafe. 

"I  see,"  muttered  Sengoun;  "it  is  already  Sunday 
morning,  and  they're  closing.  It's  too  late  to  go  to  the 
Embassy.  They'd  not  let  us  in  here  when  we  re 
turned/'' 

Neeland  summoned  a  waiter  with  a  nod : 

"When  do   you   close  up   inside   here?" 
353 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Tomorrow  being  Sunday,  the  terrace  closes  now, 
monsieur;  but  the  cafe  remains  open  all  night,"  ex 
plained  the  waiter  with  a  noticeable  German  accent. 

"Thank  you."  And,  to  Sengoun :  "I'd  certainly 
like  to  go  upstairs.  I'd  like  to  see  what  it  looks  like  up 
there — take  a  glance  around." 

"Very  well,  let  us  go  up ' 

"We  ought  to  have  some  excuse " 

"We'll  think  of  several  on  the  way,"  rising  with  alac 
rity,  but  Neeland  pulled  him  back. 

"Wait  a  moment !     It  would  only  mean  a  fight — 

"All  fights,"  explained  Sengoun  seriously,  "are  agree 
able — some  more  so.  So  if  you  are  ready,  dear  com 
rade " 

"But  a  row  will  do  us  no  good " 

"Pardon,  dear  friend,  I  have  been  in  serious  need  of 
one  for  an  hour  or  two " 

"I  don't  mean  that  sort  of  'good,'  "  explained  Nee- 
land,  laughing.  "I  mean  that  I  wish  to  look  about  up 
there — explore — 

"Quite  right,  old  fellow — always  right!  But — here^s 
an  idea!  I  could  stand  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
throw  them  down  as  they  mounted,  while  you  had  lei 
sure  to  look  around  for  your  stolen  box " 

"My  dear  Prince  Erlik,  we've  nothing  to  shoot  with, 
and  it's  likely  they  have.  There's  only  one  way  to  get 
upstairs  with  any  chance  of  learning  anything  useful. 
And  that  is  to  start  a  row  between  ourselves."  And, 
raising  his  voice  as  though  irritated,  he  called  for  the 
reckoning,  adding  in  a  tone  perfectly  audible  to  any 
body  in  the  vicinity  that  he  knew  where  roulette  was 
played,  and  that  he  was  going  whether  or  not  his  friend 
accompanied  him. 

Sengoun,  delighted,  recognised  his  cue  and  protested 
354 


THE  CAFE  DES  BULGARS 

in  loud,  nasal  tones  that  the  house  to  which  his  com 
rade  referred  was  suspected  of  unfair  play ;  and  a  noisy 
dispute  began,  listened  to  attentively  by  the  pretty  but 
brightly  painted  cashier,  the  waiters,  the  gerant,  and 
every  guest  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"As  for  me,"  cried  Sengoun,  feigning  to  lose  his 
temper,  "I  have  no  intention  of  being  tricked.  I  was 
not  born  yesterday — not  1 1  If  there  is  to  be  found  an 
honest  wheel  in  Paris  that  would  suit  me.  Otherwise, 
I  go  home  to  bed !" 

"It  is  an  honest  wheel,  I  tell  you " 

"It  is  not!     I  know  that  place!" 

"Be  reasonable " 

"Reasonable!"  repeated  Sengoun  appealingly  to  the 
people  around  them.  "Permit  me  to  ask  these  un 
usually  intelligent  gentlemen  whether  it  is  reasonable 
to  play  roulette  in  a  place  where  the  wheel  is  notori 
ously  controlled  and  the  management  a  dishonest  one! 
Could  a  gentleman  be  expected  to  frequent  or  even  to 
countenance  places  of  evil  repute?  Messieurs,  I  await 
your  verdict!"  And  he  folded  his  arms  dramatically. 

Somebody  said,  from  a  neighbouring  table: 

"Vous   avez  parfaitement   raison,   monsieur!" 

"I  thank  you,"  cried  Sengoun,  with  an  admirably 
dramatic  bow.  "Therefore,  I  shall  now  go  home  to 
bed!" 

Neeland,  maintaining  his  gravity  with  difficulty,  fol 
lowed  Sengoun  toward  the  door,  still  pretending  to 
plead  with  him;  and  the  gerant,  a  tall,  blond,  rosy  and 
unmistakable  German,  stepped  forward  to  unlock  the 
door. 

As  he  laid  his  hand  011  the  bolt  he  said  in  a 
whisper : 

"If  the  gentlemen  desire  the  privilege  of  an  exclusive 
355 


THE  DARK  STAR 


club  where  everything  is  unquestionably  con 
ducted " 

"Where?"  demanded  Neeland,  abruptly. 

"On  the  third  floor,  monsieur" 

"Here?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  If  the  gentlemen  will  honour  me 
with  their  names,  and  will  be  seated  for  one  little  mo 
ment,  I  shall  see  what  can  be  accomplished." 

"Very  well,"  said  Sengoun,  with  a  short,  incredulous 
laugh.  "I'm  Prince  Erlik,  of  the  Mongol  Embassy, 
and  my  comrade  is  Mr.  Neeland,  Consul  General  of  the 
United  States  of  America  in  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Gerol- 
stein !" 

The  gerant  smiled.  After  he  had  gone  away  toward 
the  further  room  in  the  cafe,  Neeland  remarked  to  Sen 
goun  that  doubtless  their  real  names  were  perfectly  well 
known,  and  Sengoun  disdainfully  shrugged  his  indif 
ference  : 

"What  can  one  expect  in  this  dirty  rat-nest  of  Eu 
rope?  Abdul  the  Damned  employed  one  hundred  thou 
sand  spies  in  Constantinople  alone!  And  William  the 
Sudden  admired  him.  Why,  Neeland,  mon  ami,  I  never 
take  a  step  in  the  streets  without  being  absolutely  cer 
tain  that  I  am  watched  and  followed.  What  do  I  care ! 
Except  that  towns  make  me  sick.  But  the  only  cure 
is  a  Khirgiz  horse  and  a  thousand  lances.  God  send 
them.  I'm  sick  of  cities." 

A  few  moments  later  the  gerant  returned  and,  in  a 
low  voice,  requested  them  to  accompany  him. 

They  passed  leisurely  through  the  cafe,  between 
tables  where  lowered  eyes  seemed  to  deny  any  curiosity ; 
but  guests  and  waiters  looked  after  them  after  they  had 
passed,  and  here  and  there  people  whispered  together 
— particularly  two  men  who  had  followed  them 

356 


THE  CAFE  DES  BULGAES 

from  the  sun-dial  fountain  in  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  to  the 
Jardin  Russe,  across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  into 
the  Cafe  des  Bulgars  in  the  rue  Vilna. 

On  the  stairs  Neeland  heard  Sengoun  still  muttering 
to  himself: 

"Certainly  I  am  sick  of  cities  and  narrow  strips  of 
sky.  What  I  need  is  a  thousand  lances  at  a  gallop, 
and  a  little  Kirghiz  horse  between  my  knees." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

THE  suite  of  rooms  into  which  they  were  ushered  ap 
peared  to  be  furnished  in  irreproachable  taste.  Except 
for  the  salon  at  the  further  end  of  the  suite,  where  play 
was  in  progress,  the  charming  apartment  might  have 
been  a  private  one ;  and  the  homelike  simplicity  of  the 
room,  where  books,  flowers,  and  even  a  big,  grey  cat 
confirmed  the  first  agreeable  impression,  accented  the 
lurking  smile  on  Sengoun's  lips. 

Doc  Curfoot,  in  evening  dress,  came  forward  to  re 
ceive  them,  in  company  with  another  man,  young,  nice- 
looking,  very  straight,  and  with  the  high,  square  shoul 
ders  of  a  Prussian. 

"Bong  soire,  mussoors"  said  Curfoot  genially.  "J'ai 
Tlionnoor  de  voiis  faire  connaitre  mong  ami,  Mussoor 
Weishelm." 

They  exchanged  very  serious  bows  with  "Mussoor" 
Weishelm,  and  Curfoot  retired. 

In  excellent  French  Weishelm  inquired  whether  they 
desired  supper ;  and  learning  that  they  did  not,  bowed 
smilingly  and  bade  them  welcome: 

"You  are  at  home,  gentlemen ;  the  house  is  yours. 
If  it  pleases  you  to  sup,  we  offer  you  our  hospitality; 
if  you  care  to  play,  the  salon  is  at  your  disposal,  or,  if 
you  prefer,  a  private  room.  Yonder  is  the  buffet ;  there 
are  electric  bells  at  your  elbow.  You  are  at  home,"  he 
repeated,  clicked  his  heels  together,  bowed,  and  took 
his  leave. 

358 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

Sengoun  dropped  into  a  comfortable  chair  and  sent 
a  waiter  for  caviar,  toast,  and  German  champagne. 

Neeland  lighted  a  cigarette,  seated  himself,  and 
looked  about  him  curiously. 

Over  in  a  corner  on  a  sofa  a  rather  pretty  woman, 
a  cigarette  between  her  jewelled  fingers,  was  reading  an 
evening  newspaper.  Two  others  in  the  adjoining  room, 
young  and  attractive,  their  feet  on  the  fireplace  fender, 
conversed  together  over  a  sandwich,  a  glass  of  the 
widely  advertised  Dubonnet,  and  another  of  the  equally 
advertised  Bon  Lait  Maggi — as  serenely  and  as  com 
fortably  as  though  they  were  by  their  own  firesides. 

"Perhaps  they  are,"  remarked  Sengoun,  plastering 
an  oblong  of  hot  toast  with  caviar.  "Birds  of  this  kind 
nest  easily  anywhere." 

Neeland  continued  to  gaze  toward  the  salon  where, 
play  was  in  progress.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  many 
people  there.  At  a  small  table  he  recognised  Brandes 
and  Stull  playing  what  appeared  to  be  bridge  whist 
with  two  men  whom  he  had  never  before  seen.  There 
were  no  women  playing. 

As  he  watched  the  round,  expressionless  face  of 
Brandes,  who  was  puffing  a  long  cigar  screwed  tightly 
into  the  corner  of  his  thin-lipped  mouth,  it  occurred 
to  him  somewhat  tardily  what  Rue  Carew  had  said  con 
cerning  personal  danger  to  himself  if  any  of  these  peo 
ple  believed  him  capable  of  reconstructing  from  memory 
any  of  the  stolen  plans. 

He  had  not  thought  about  that  specific  contingency ; 
instinct  alone  had  troubled  him  a  little  when  he  first 
entered  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars. 

However,  his  unquiet  eyes  could  discover  nothing  of 
either  Kestner  or  Breslau ;  and,  somehow,  he  did  not 
even  think  of  encountering  Use  Dumont  in  such  a  place. 

359 


THE  DARK  STAR 


As  for  Brandes  and  Stull,  they  did  not  recognise  him  at 
all. 

So,  entirely  reassured  once  more  by  the  absence  of 
Ali-Baba  and  Golden  Beard,  and  of  Scheherazade  whom 
he  had  no  fear  of  meeting,  Neeland  ate  his  caviar  with 
a  relish  and  examined  his  surroundings. 

Of  course  it  was  perfectly  possible  that  the  stolen 
papers  had  been  brought  here.  There  were  three  other 
floors  in  the  building,  too,  and  he  wondered  what  they 
were  used  for. 

Sengoun's  appetite  for  conflict  waned  as  he  ate  and 
drank;  and  a  violent  desire  to  gamble  replaced  it. 

"You  poke  about  a  bit,"  he  said  to  Neeland.  "Talk 
to  that  girl  over  there  and  see  what  you  can  learn.  As 
for  me,  I  mean  to  start  a  little  flirtation  with  Made 
moiselle  Fortuna.  Does  that  suit  you?" 

If  Sengoun  wished  to  play  it  was  none  of  Neeland's 
business. 

"Do  you  think  it  an  honest  game?"  he  asked,  doubt 
fully. 

"With  negligible  stakes  all  first-class  gamblers  are 
honest." 

"If  I  were  you,  Sengoun,  I  wouldn't  drink  anything 
more." 

"Excellent  advice,  old  fellow!"  emptying  his  goblet 
with  satisfaction.  And,  rising  to  his  firm  and  grace 
ful  height,  he  strolled  away  toward  the  salon  where 
play  progressed  amid  the  most  decorous  and  edifying 
of  atmospheres. 

Neeland  watched  him  disappear,  then  he  glanced  curi 
ously  at  the  girl  on  the  sofa  who  was  still  preoccupied 
with  her  newspaper. 

So  he  rose,  sauntered  about  the  room  examining  the 
few  pictures  and  bronzes,  modern  but  excellent.  The 

360 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

carpet  under  foot  was  thick  and  soft,  but,  as  he  strolled 
past  the  girl  who  seemed  to  be  so  intently  reading,  she 
looked  up  over  her  paper  and  returned  his  civil  recog 
nition  of  her  presence  with  a  slight  smile. 

As  he  appeared  inclined  to  linger,  she  said  with  pleas 
ant  self-possession: 

"These  newspaper  rumours,  monsieur,  are  becoming 
too  persistent  to  amuse  us  much  longer.  War  talk  is 
becoming  vieux  jeu" 

"Why  read  them?"  inquired  Neeland  with  a  smile. 

"Why?"  She  made  a  slight  gesture.  "One  reads 
what  is  printed,  I  suppose." 

"Written  and  printed  by  people  who  know  no  more 
about  the  matter  in  question  than  you  and  I,  made 
moiselle,"  he  remarked,  still  smiling. 

"That  is  perfectly  true.  Why  is  it  worth  while  for 
anyone  to  search  for  truth  in  these  days  when  everyone 
is  paid  to  conceal  it?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "not  everyone." 

"No;  some  lie  naturally  and  without  pay,"  she  ad 
mitted  indifferently. 

"But  there  are  still  others.  For  example,  made 
moiselle,  yourself." 

"I?"  She  laughed,  not  troubling  to  refute  the  sug 
gestion  of  her  possible  truthfulness. 

He  said: 

"This — club — is  furnished  in  excellent  taste." 

"Yes;  it  is  quite  new." 

"Has  it  a  name?" 

"I  believe  it  is  called  the  Cercle  Extranationale. 
Would  monsieur  also  like  to  know  the  name  of  the  club 
cat?" 

They  both  laughed  easily,  but  he  could  make  nothing 
of  her. 

361 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Thank  you,"  he  said ;  "and  I  fear  I  have  interrupted 
your  reading " 

"I  have  read  enough  lies ;  I  am  quite  ready  to  tell  you 
a  few.  Shall  I?" 

"You  are  most  amiable.  I  have  been  wondering  what 
the  other  floors  in  this  building  are  used  for." 

"Private  apartments,"  she  replied  smiling,  looking 
him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "Now  you  don't  know 
whether  I've  told  you  the  truth  or  not;  do  you?" 

"Of  course  I  know." 

"Which,  then?" 

"The  truth." 

She  laughed  and  indicated  a  chair;  and  he  seated 
himself. 

"Who  is  the  dark,  nice-looking  gentleman  accom 
panying  you?"  she  enquired. 

"How  could  you  see  him  at  all  through  your  news 
paper?" 

"I  poked  a  hole,  of  course." 

"To  look  at  him  or  at  me?" 

"Your  mirror  ought  to  reassure  you.  However,  as 
an  afterthought,  who  is  he?" 

"Prince  Erlik,  of  Mongolia,"  replied  Neeland  sol 
emnly. 

"I  supposed  so.  We  of  the  infernal  aristocracy  be 
long  together.  I  am  the  Contessa  Diabletta  d'Enfer." 

He  inclined  gravely: 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  belong  here,"  he  said.  "I'm  only 
a  Yankee." 

"Hell  is  full  of  them,"  she  said,  smiling.  "All  Yan 
kees  belong  where  Prince  Erlik  and  I  are  at  home. 
.  .  .  Do  you  play?" 

"No.    Do  you?" 

"It  depends  on  chance." 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

"It  would  give  me  much  pleasure 

"Thank  you,  not  tonight."  And  in  the  same,  level, 
pleasant  voice:  "Don't  look  immediately,  but  from 
where  you  sit  you  can  see  in  the  mirror  opposite  two 
women  seated  in  the  next  room." 

After  a  moment  he  nodded. 

"Are  they  watching  us?" 

"Yes." 

"Mr.  Neeland?" 

He  reddened  with  surprise. 

"Get  Captain  Sengoun  and  leave,"  she  said,  still  smil 
ing.  "Do  it  carelessly,  convincingly.  Neither  of  you 
needs  courage;  both  of  you  lack  common  sense.  Get 
up,  take  leave  of  me  nicely  but  regretfully,  as  though  I 
had  denied  you  a  rendezvous.  You  will  be  killed  if 
you  remain  here." 

For  a  moment  Neeland  hesitated,  but  curiosity  won: 

"Who  is  likely  to  try  anything  of  that  sort?"  he 
asked.  And  a  tingling  sensation,  not  wholly  unpleas 
ant,  passed  over  him. 

"Almost  anyone  here,  if  you  are  recognised,"  she 
said,  as  gaily  as  though  she  were  imparting  delightful 
information. 

"But  you  recognise  us.  And  I'm  certainly  not  dead 
yet." 

"Which  ought  to  tell  you  more  about  me  than  I 
am  likely  to  tell  anybody.  Now,  when  I  smile  at  you 
and  shake  my  head,  make  your  adieux  to  me,  find  Cap~ 
tain  Sengoun,  and  take  your  departure.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Are  you  really  serious?" 

"It  is  you  who  should  be  serious.  Now,  I  give  you 
your  signal,  Monsieur  Neeland ' 

But  the  smile  stiffened  on  her  pretty  face,  and  at 
363 


THE  DARK  STAR 


the  same  moment  he  was  aware  that  somebody  had  en 
tered  the  room  and  was  standing  directly  behind  him. 

He  turned  on  his  chair  and  looked  up  into  the  face 
of  Use  Dumont. 

There  was  a  second's  hesitation,  then  he  was  on  his 
feet,  greeting  her  cordially,  apparently  entirely  at 
ease  and  with  nothing  on  his  mind  except  the  agreeable 
surprise  of  the  encounter. 

"I  had  your  note,"  he  said.  "It  was  charming  of 
you  to  write,  but  very  neglectful  of  you  not  to  include 
your  address.  Tell  me,  how  have  you  been  since  I  last 
saw  you?" 

Use  Dumont's  red  lips  seemed  to  be  dry,  for  she 
moistened  them  without  speaking.  In  her  eyes  he  saw 
peril — knowledge  of  something  terrible — some  instant 
menace. 

Then  her  eyes,  charged  with  lightning,  slowly  turned 
from  him  to  the  girl  on  the  sofa  who  had  not  moved. 
But  in  her  eyes,  too,  a  little  flame  began  to  flicker  and 
play,  and  the  fixed  smile  relaxed  into  an  expression  of 
cool  self-possession. 

Neeland's  pleasant,  careless  voice  broke  the  occult 
tension : 

"This  is  a  pretty  club,"  he  said ;  "everything  here  is 
in  such  excellent  taste.  You  might  have  told  me  about 
it,"  he  added  to  Use  with  smiling  reproach;  "but  you 
never  even  mentioned  it,  and  I  discovered  it  quite  by 
accident." 

Use  Dumont  seemed  to  find  her  voice  with  an  effort : 

"May  I  have  a  word  with  you,  Mr.  Neeland?"  she 
asked. 

"Always,"  he  assured  her  promptly.  "I  am  always 
more  than  happy  to  listen  to  you " 

"flease  follow  me!" 

364 


THE  CEBCLE  EXTEANATIONALE 

He  turned  to  the  girl  on  the  sofa  and  made  his  adieux 
with  conventional  ceremony  and  a  reckless  smile  which 
said: 

"You  were  quite  right,  mademoiselle;  I'm  in  trouble 
already." 

Then  he  followed  Use  Dumont  into  the  adjoining 
room,  which  was  lined  with  filled  bookcases  and  where 
the  lounges  and  deep  chairs  were  covered  with 
leather. 

Halting  by  the  library  table,  Use  Dumont  turned  to 
him — turned  on  him  a  look  such  as  he  never  before 
had  encountered  in  any  living  woman's  eyes — a  dead 
gaze,  dreadful,  glazed,  as  impersonal  as  the  fixed  regard 
of  a  corpse. 

She  said:          % 

"I  came.  .  .  .  They  sent  for  me.  ...  I  did  not 
believe  they  had  the  right  man.  ...  I  could  not  be 
lieve  it,  Neeland." 

A  trifle  shaken,  he  said  in  tones  which  sounded  steady 
enough : 

"What  frightens  you  so,  Scheherazade?" 

"Why  did  you  come?     Are  you  absolutely  mad?" 

"Mad?  No,  I  don't  think  so,"  he  replied  with  a 
forced  smile.  "What  threatens  me  here,  Schehera 
zade?" — regarding  her  pallid  face  attentively. 

"Death.  .  .  .  You  must  have  known  it  when  you 
came." 

"Death?    No,  I  didn't  know  it." 

"Did  you  suppose  that  if  they  could  get  hold  of 
you  they'd  let  you  go? — A  man  who  might  carry  in  his 
memory  the  plans  for  which  they  tried  to  kill  you?  I 
wrote  to  you — I  wrote  to  you  to  go  back  to  America ! 
And — this  is  what  you  have  done  instead !" 

"Well,"  he  said  in  a  pleasant  but  rather  serious 
365 


THE  DARK  STAR 


voice,  "if  you  really  believe  there  is  danger  for  me  if  I 
remain  here,  perhaps  I'd  better  go." 

"You  can't  go!" 

"You  think  I'll  be  stopped?" 

"Yes.  Who  is  your  crazy  companion?  I  heard  that 
he  is  Alak  Sengoun — the  headlong  fool — they  call 
Prince  Erlik.  Is  it  true?" 

"Where  did  you  hear  all  these  things  ?"  he  demanded. 
"Where  were  you  when  you  heard  them?" 

"At  the  Turkish  Embassy.  Word  came  that  they 
had  caught  you.  I  did  not  believe  it;  others  present 
doubted  it.  ...  But  as  the  rumour  concerned  you,  I 
took  no  chances ;  I  came  instantly.  I — I  had  rather 
be  dead  than  see  you  here "  Her  voice  became  un 
steady,  but  she  controlled  it  at  once: 

"Neeland !  Neeland!  Why  did  you  come?  Why  have 
you  undone  all  I  tried  to  do  for  you ?" 

He  looked  intently  at  Use  Dumont,  then  his  gaze 
swept  the  handsome  suite  of  rooms.  No  one  seemed  to 
notice  him;  in  perspective,  men  moved  leisurely  about 
the  further  salon,  where  play  was  going  on;  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  one  else  in  sight.  And,  as  he 
stood  there,  free,  in  full  pride  and  vigour  of  youth 
and  strength,  he  became  incredulous  that  anything 
could  threaten  him  which  he  could  not  take  care 
of. 

A  smile  grew  in  his  eyes,  confident,  humorous,  a  little 
hint  of  tenderness  in  it: 

"Scheherazade,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  dear.  You 
pulled  me  out  of  a  dreadful  mess  on  the  Volhynla.  I 
offer  you  gratitude,  respect,  and  the  very  warm  regard 
for  you  which  I  really  cherish  in  my  heart." 

He  took  her  hands,  kissed  them,  looked  up  half  laugh 
ing,  half  in  earnest. 

366 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

"If  you're  worried,"  he  said,  "I'll  find  Captain  Sen- 
goun  and  we'll  depart " 

She  retained  his  hands  in  a  convulsive  clasp: 

"Oh,  Neeland !  Neeland !  There  are  men  below  who 
will  never  let  you  pass !  And  Breslau  and  Kestner  are 
coming  here  later.  And  that  devil,  Damat  Mahmud 
Bey!" 

"Golden  Beard  and  Ali  Baba  and  the  whole  Arabian 
Nights !"  exclaimed  Neeland.  "Who  is  Damat  Mahmud 
Bey,  Scheherazade  dear?" 

"The  shadow  of  Abdul  Hamid." 

"Yes,  dear  child,  but  Abdul  the  Damned  is  shut  up 
tight  in  a  fortress  !" 

"His  shadow  dogs  the  spurred  heels  of  Enver  Pasha," 
she  said,  striving  to  maintain  her  composure.  "Oh, 
Neeland! — A  hundred  thousand  Armenians  are  yet  to 
die  in  that  accursed  shadow !  And  do  you  think  Mah 
mud  Damat  will  hesitate  in  regard  to  you!" 

"Nonsense !  Does  a  murderous  Moslem  go  about 
Paris  killing  people  he  doesn't  happen  to  fancy  ?  Those 
things  aren't  done " 

"Have  you  and  Sengoun  any  weapons  at  all?" 
she  interrupted  desperately,  "Anything! — A  sword 
carie ?" 

"No.  What  the  devil  does  all  this  business  mean?" 
he  broke  out  impatiently.  "What's  all  this  menace  of 
lawlessness — this  impudent  threat  of  interference 

"It  is  war!" 

"War?"  he  repeated,  not  quite  understanding  her. 

She  caught  him  by  the  arm: 

"War!"  she  whispered;  "War!  Do  you  understand? 
They  don't  care  what  they  do  now !  They  mean  to  kill 
you  here  in  this  place.  They'll  be  out  of  France  before 
anybody  finds  you." 

367 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Has  war  actually  been  declared?"  he  asked, 
astounded. 

"Tomorrow !  It  is  known  in  certain  circles !"  She 
dropped  his  arm  and  clasped  her  hands  and  stood  there 
twisting  them,  white,  desperate,  looking  about  her  like 
a  hunted  thing. 

"Why  did  you  do  this?"  she  repeated  in  an  agonised 
voice.  "What  can  I  do?  I'm  no  traitor!  .  .  .But  I'd 
give  you  a  pistol  if  I  had  one "  She  checked  her 
self  as  the  girl  who  had  been  reading  an  evening  news 
paper  on  a  sofa,  and  to  whom  Neeland  had  been  talking 
when  Use  Dumont  entered,  came  sauntering  into  the 
room. 

The  eyes  of  both  women  met ;  both  turned  a  trifle 
paler.  Then  Use  Dumont  walked  slowly  up  to  the  other : 

"I  overheard  your  warning,"  she  said  with  a  deadly 
stare. 

"Really?" 

Use  stretched  out  her  bare  arm,  palm  upward,  and 
closed  the  fingers  tightly: 

"I  hold  your  life  in  my  hand.  I  have  only  to  speak. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"No." 

"You  are  lying.  You  do  understand.  You  take 
double  wages;  but  it  is  not  France  you  betray!  Nor 
Russia !" 

"Are  you  insane?" 

"Almost.     Where  do  you  carry  them?19 

"What?" 

"Answer  quickly.  Where?  I  tell  you,  I'll  expose  you 
in  another  moment  if  you  don't  answer  me !  Speak 
quickly !" 

The  other  woman  had  turned  a  ghastly  white ;  for  a 
second  or  two  she  remained  dumb,  then,  dry-lipped: 

368 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

"Above — the  knee,"  she  stammered;  but  there  was 
scarcely  a  sound  from  the  blanched  lips  that  formed 
the  words. 

"Pistols?" 

"Yes." 

"Loaded?     Both  of  them?" 

"Yes." 

"Clips?" 

"No." 

"Unstrap   them!" 

The  woman  turned,  bent  almost  double,  twisting1 
her  supple  body  entirely  around;  but  Use  Dumont 
was  at  her  side  like  a  flasn  and  caught  her  wrist  as 
she  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  hem  of  her  fluffy 
skirt. 

"Now — take  your  life!"  said  Use  Dumont  between 
her  teeth.  "There's  the  door!  Go  out!" — following 
her  with  blazing  eyes — "Stop!  Stand  where  you  are 
until  I  come !" 

Then  she  came  quickly  to  where  Neeland  stood, 
astonished;  and  thrust  two  automatic  pistols  into  his 
hands. 

"Get  Sengoun,"  she  whispered.  "Don't  go  down- 
stairs,  for  God's  sake.  Get  to  the  roof,  if  you  can. 
Try — oh,  try,  try,  Neeland,  my  friend!"  Her  voice 
trembled;  she  looked  into  his  eyes — gave  him,  in  that 
swift  regard,  all  that  a  woman  withholds  until  the  right 
man  asks. 

Her  lips  quivered;  she  turned  sharply  on  her  heel, 
went  to  the  outer  hallway,  where  the  other  woman  stood 
motionless. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  you?"  demanded  Use  Du 
mont.  "Do  you  think  you  are  going  out  of  here  to 
summon  the  police?  Mount  those  stairs!" 

369 


THE  DARK  STAR 


The  woman  dropped  her  hand  on  the  banisters, 
heavily,  set  foot  on  the  first  stair,  then  slowly  mounted 
as  though  her  little  feet  in  their  dainty  evening  slippers 
were  weighted  with  ball  and  chain. 

Use  Dumont  followed  her,  opened  a  door  in  the  pas 
sage,  motioned  her  to  enter.  It  was  a  bedroom  that 
the  electric  light  revealed.  The  woman  entered  and 
stood  by  the  bed  as  though  stupefied. 

"I'll  keep  my  word  to  you,"  said  Use  Dumont. 
"When  it  becomes  too  late  for  you  to  do  us  any  mis 
chief,  I'll  return  and  let  you  go." 

And  she  stepped  back  across  the  threshold  and 
locked  the  door  on  the  outside. 

As  she  did  so,  Neeland  and  Sengoun  came  swiftly 
up  the  stairs,  and  she  beckoned  them  to  follow,  gath 
ered  the  skirts  of  her  evening  gown  into  one  hand, 
and  ran  up  the  stairs  ahead  of  them  to  the  fifth 
floor. 

In  the  dim  light  Neeland  saw  that  the  top  floor  was 
merely  a  vast  attic  full  of  debris  from  the  cafe  on  the 
ground  floor — iron  tables  which  required  mending  or 
repainting,  i-ron  chairs,  great  jars  of  artificial  stone 
with  dead  baytrees  standing  in  them,  parts  of  rusty 
stoves  and  kitchen  ranges,  broken  cutlery  in  boxes, 
cracked  table  china  and  heavier  kitchen  crockery  in 
tubs  which  once  had  held  flowers. 

The  only  windows  gave  on  a  court.  Through  their 
dirty  panes  already  the  grey  light  of  that  early  Sunday 
morning  glimmered,  revealing  the  contents  of  the 
shadowy  place,  and  the  position  of  an  iron  ladder 
hooked  to  two  rings  under  the  scuttle  overhead. 

Use  Dumont  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips,  conjuring 
silence,  then,  clutching  her  silken  skirts,  she  started  up 
the  iron  ladder,  reached  the  top,  and,  exerting  all  her 

370 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRAXATIONALE 

strength,  lifted  the  hinged  scuttle  leading  to  the  leads 
outside. 

Instantly  somebody  challenged  her  in  a  guttural 
voice.  She  stood  there  a  few  moments  in  whispered  con 
versation,  then,  from  outside,  somebody  lowered  the 
scuttle  cover ;  the  girl  locked  it,  descended  the  iron 
ladder  backwards,  and  came  swiftly  across  to  where 
Neeland  and  Sengoun  were  standing,  pistols  lifted. 

"They're  guarding  the  roof,"  she  whispered,  " — two 
men.  It  is  hopeless,  that  way." 

"The  proper  way,"  said  Sengoun  calmly,  "is  for  us 
to  shoot  our  way  out  of  this !" 

The  girl  turned  on  him  in  a  passion: 

"Do  you  suppose  I  care  what  happens  to  you?"  she 
said.  "If  there  were  no  one  else  to  consider  you  might 
do  as  you  pleased,  for  all  it  concerns  me!" 

Sengoun  reddened: 

"Be  silent,  you  treacherous  little  cat!"  he  retorted. 
"Do  you  imagine  your  riffraff  are  going  to  hold  me 
here  when  I'm  ready  to  depart !  Me!  A  free  Cossack ! 
Bah !" 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  Sengoun,"  said  Neeland 
sharply.  "We  owe  these  pistols  to  her." 

"Oh,"  muttered  Sengoun,  shooting  a  menacing  glance 
at  her.  "I  didn't  understand  that."  Then  his  scowl 
softened  and  a  sudden  laugh  cleared  his  face. 

"I'm  sorry,  mademoiselle,"  he  said.  "You're  quite 
welcome  to  your  low  opinion  of  me.  But  if  anyone 
should  ask  me,  I'd  say  that  I  don't  understand  what  is 
happening  to  us.  And  after  a  while  I'll  become  angry 
and  go  downstairs  for  information." 

"They  know  nothing  about  you  in  the  saUe  de  jeu," 
she  said,  "but  on  the  floor  below  they're  waiting  to 
kill  you." 

371 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Neeland,  astonished,  asked  her  whether  the  American 
gamblers  in  the  salon  where  Sengoun  had  been  playing 
were  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  house. 

"What  Americans?"  she  demanded,  incredulously. 
"Do  you  mean  Weishelm?" 

"Didn't  you  know  there  were  Americans  employed 
in  the  salle  de  jeu?"  asked  Neeland,  surprised. 

"No.  I  have  not  been  in  this  house  for  a  year  until 
I  came  tonight.  This  place  is  maintained  by  the  Turk 
ish  Government —  She  flashed  a  glance  at  Sengoun 
—"you're  welcome  to  the  information  now,"  she  added 
contemptuously.  And  then,  to  Neeland :  "There  was,  I 
believe,  some  talk  in  New  York  about  adding  one  or 
two  Americans  to  the  personnel,  but  I  opposed  it." 

"They're  here,"  said  Neeland  drily. 

"Do  you  know  who  they  are?" 

"Yes.     There's  a  man  called  Doc  Curfoot " 

"WholF 

And  suddenly,  for  the  first  time,  Neeland  remembered 
that  she  had  been  the  wife  of  one  of  the  men  below. 

"Brandes  and  Stull  are  the  others,"  he  said  mechan 
ically. 

The  girl  stared  at  him  as  though  she  did  not  compre 
hend,  and  she  passed  one  hand  slowly  across  her  fore 
head  and  eyes. 

"Eddie  Brandes?  Here?  And  Stull?  Curfoot? 
Here  in  this  house!" 

"In  the  salon  below." 

"They  can't  be !"  she  protested  in  an  odd,  colourless 
voice.  "They  were  bought  soul  and  body  by  the  British 
Secret  Service!" 

All  three  stood  staring  at  one  another;  the  girl 
flushed,  clenched  her  hand,  then  let  it  fall  by  her  side  as 
though  utterly  overcome. 

372 


THE  CEECLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

"All  this  espionage!"  cried  Sengoun,  furiously. 
" — It  makes  me  sick,  I  tell  you !  Where  everybody 
betrays  everybody  is  no  place  for  a  free  Cossack ! — 

The  terrible  expression  on  the  girl's  face  checked 
him  ;  she  said,  slowly : 

"It  is  we  others  who  have  been  betrayed,  it  seems. 
It  is  we  who  are  trapped  here.  They've  got  us  all — 
every  one  of  us.  Oh,  my  God ! — every  one  of  us — at 
last !" 

She  lifted  her  haggard  face  and  stared  at  the  increas 
ing  light  which  was  turning  the  window  panes  a  sickly 
jellow. 

"With  sunrise  comes  war,"  she  said  in  a  stunned 
voice,  as  though  to  convince  herself.  "We  are  caught 
here  in  this  house.  And  Kestner  and  Weishelm  and 

Breslau  and  I "  she  trembled,  framing  her  burning 

face  in  slim  hands  that  were  like  ice.  "Do  you  under 
stand  that  Brandes  and  Curfoot,  bought  by  England, 
have  contracted  to  deliver  us  to  a  French  court  mar 
tial?" 

The  men  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

"Kestner  and  Breslau  knew  they  had  been  bought. 
One  of  our  own  people  witnessed  that  treachery.  But 
we  never  dreamed  that  these  traitors  would  venture  into 
this  house  tonight.  We  should  have  come  here  ourselves 
instead  of  going  to  the  Turkish  Embassy.  That  was 
Mahmud  Damat's  meddling!  His  messenger  insisted. 
God !  What  a  mistake !  What  a  deathly  mistake  for 
all  of  us !" 

She  leaned  for  a  moment  against  one  of  the  iron 
pillars  which  supported  the  attic  roof,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

After  a  moment,  Neeland  said: 

"I  don't  understand  why  you  can't  leave  this  house 
373 


THE  DARK  STAE 


if  you  are  in  danger.  You  say  that  there  are  men 
downstairs  who  are  waiting  to  kill  us — waiting  only 
for  Kestner  and  Breslau  and  Mahmud  Damat  to  ar 
rive." 

She  said  faintly: 

"I  did  not  before  understand  Mahmud's  delay.  Now, 
I  understand.  He  has  been  warned.  Breslau  and  Kest 
ner  will  not  come.  Otherwise,  you  now  would  be  barri 
caded  behind  that  breastwork  of  rubbish,  fighting  for 
your  lives." 

"But  you  say  there  are  men  on  the  stairs  below  who 
are  ready  to  kill  us  if  we  try  to  leave  the  house." 

"They,  too,  are  trapped  without  knowing  it.  War 
will  come  with  sunrise.  This  house  has  been  under  sur 
veillance  since  yesterday  afternoon.  They  have  not 
closed  in  on  us  yet,  because  they  are  leaving  the  trap 
open  in  hopes  of  catching  us  all.  They  are  waiting  for 
Breslau  and  Kestner  and  Mahmud  Damat.  .  .  .  But 
they'll  never  come,  now.  .  .  .  They  are  out  of  the  city 
by  this  time.  ...  I  know  them.  They  are  running  for 
their  lives  at  this  hour.  .  .  .  And  we — we  lesser  ones — 
caught  here — trapped — reserved  for  a  French  court 
martial  and  a  firing  squad  in  a  barrack  square !" 

She  shuddered  and  pressed  her  hands  over  her  tem 
ples. 

Neeland  said: 

"I  am  going  to  stand  by  you.  Captain  Sengoun  will 
do  the  same." 

She  shook  her  head : 

"No  use,"  she  said  with  a  shiver.  "I  am  too  well 
known.  They  have  my  dossier  almost  complete.  My 
proces  will  be  a  brief  one." 

"Can't  you  get  away  by  the  roof?  There  are  two 
of  your  men  up  there." 

374 


THE  CERCLE  EXTRANATIONALE 

"They  themselves  are  caught,  and  do  not  even  know 
it.  They  too  will  face  a  squad  of  execution  before  the 
sun  rises  tomorrow.  And  they  never  dream  of  it  up 
there " 

She  made  a  hopeless  gesture: 

"What  is  the  use!  When  I  came  here  from  the 
Turkish  Embassy,  hearing  that  you  were  here  but  be 
lieving  the  information  false,  I  discovered  you  convers 
ing  with  a  Russian  spy — overheard  her  warn  you  to 
leave  this  house. 

"And  there,  all  the  while,  unknown  to  me,  in  the 
salle  de  jeu  were  Curfoot  and  that  unspeakable  scoun 
drel  Brandes !  Why,  the  place  was  swarming  with  ene 
mies — and  I  never  dreamed  it !  .  .  .  Yet — I  might  have 
feared  some  such  thing — I  might  have  feared  that  the 
man,  Brandes,  who  had  betrayed  me  once,  would  do  it 
again  if  he  ever  had  the  chance.  .  .  .  And  he's  done 
it." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Use  stood  staring  at  the 
melancholy  greyish  light  on  the  window  panes. 

She  said  as  though  to  herself: 

"I  shall  never  see  another  daybreak."  .  .  .  After 
a  moment  she  turned  and  began  to  pace  the  attic,  a 
strange,  terrible  figure  of  haggard  youth  in  the  shadowy 
light.  "How  horribly  still  it  is  at  daybreak!"  she 
breathed,  halting  before  Neeland.  "How  deathly 
quiet— 

The  dry  crack  of  a  pistol  cut  her  short.  Then,  in 
stantly,  in  the  dim  depths  of  the  house,  shot  followed 
shot  in  bewildering  succession,  faster,  faster,  filling  the 
place  with  a  distracting  tumult. 

Neeland  jerked  up  his  pistol  as  a  nearer  volley  rat 
tled  out  on  the  landing  directly  underneath. 

Sengoun,  exasperated,  shouted: 
375 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Well,  what  the  devil  is  all  this !"  and  ran  toward 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  his  pistol  lifted  for  action. 

Then,  in  the  garret  doorway,  Weishelm  appeared,  his 
handsome  face  streaming  blood.  He  staggered,  turned 
mechanically  toward  the  stairs  again  with  wavering 
revolver;  but  a  shot  drove  him  blindly  backward  and 
another  hurled  him  full  length  across  the  floor,  where 
he  lay  with  both  arms  spread  out,  and  the  last  tremors 
running  from  his  feet  to  his  twitching  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A  RAT  HUNT 

THE  interior  of  the  entire  house  was  now  in  an  up 
roar;  shots  came  fast  from  every  landing;  the  semi- 
dusk  of  stair-well  and  corridor  was  lighted  by  incessant 
pistol  flashes  and  the  whole  building  echoed  the  deafen 
ing  racket. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  shouted  Sengoun  fu 
riously,  standing  like  a  baited  and  perplexed  bull. 
"Who's  fighting  who  in  this  fool  of  a  place?  By  Erlik  I 
I'd  like  to  know  whom  I'm  to  fire  at !" 

Use  Dumont,  creeping  along  the  wall,  looked  fear 
fully  down  at  Weishelm  who  no  longer  moved  where  he 
lay  on  the  dusty  floor,  with  eyes  and  mouth  open  and 
his  distorted  face  already  half  covered  by  a  wet  and 
crawling  scarlet  mask. 

"Brandes  and  Stull  are  betraying  us,"  she  whispered. 
"They  are  killing  my  comrades — on  the  stairs  down 
there " 

"If  that  is  true,"  called  out  Neeland  in  a  low,  cau 
tious  voice,  "you'd  better  wait  a  moment,  Sengoun !" 

But  Sengoun's  rage  for  combat  had  already  filled 
him  to  overflowing,  and  the  last  rag  of  patience  left 
him. 

"I  don't  care  who  is  fighting!"  he  bellowed.  "It's  all 
one  to  me !  Now  is  the  time  to  shoot  our  way  out  of 
this.  Come  on,  Neeland!  Hurrah  for  the  Terek  Cos 
sacks  !  Another  town  taken !  Hurrah !" 

Neeland  caught  Use  by  the  wrist : 
377 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"You'd  better  get  free  of  this  house  while  you  can !" 
he  said,  dragging  her  with  him  after  Sengoun,  who  had 
already  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  was  starting 
down,  peering  about  for  a  target. 

Suddenly,  on  the  landing  below,  Golden  Beard  and 
Ali  Baba  appeared,  caught  sight  of  Sengoun  and  Nee- 
land  above,  and  opened  fire  on  them  instantly,  driving 
them  back  from  the  head  of  the  staircase  flat  against 
the  corridor  wall.  But  Golden  Beard,  seeming  to  real 
ise  now  that  the  garret  landing  was  held  and  the  way 
to  the  roof  cut  off,  began  to  retreat  from  the  foot  of 
the  garret  stairs  with  Ali  Baba  following,  their  rest 
less,  upward-pointed  pistols  searching  for  the  slight 
est  movement  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  hallway 
above. 

Sengoun,  fuming  and  fretting,  had  begun  to  creep 
toward  the  head  of  the  stairs  again,  when  there  came 
a  rattling  hail  of  shots  from  below,  a  rush,  the  trample 
of  feet,  the  crash  of  furniture  and  startling  slam  of 
a,  door. 

Downstairs  straight  toward  the  uproar  ran  Sengoun 
with  Neeland  beside  him.  The  halls  were  swimming  in 
acrid  fumes;  the  floors  trembled  and  shook  under  the 
shock  as  a  struggling,  fighting  knot  of  men  went  tum 
bling  down  the  stairway  below,  reached  the  landing 
and  burst  into  the  rooms  of  the  Cercle  Extranationale. 

Leaning  over  the  banisters,  Neeland  saw  Golden 
Beard  turn  on  Doc  Curfoot,  raging,  magnificent  as  a 
Viking,  his  blue  eyes  ablaze.  He  hurled  his  empty  pistol 
at  the  American;  seized  chairs,  bronzes,  andirons,  the 
clock  from  the  mantel,  and  sent  a  storm  of  heavy  mis 
siles  through  the  doorway  among  the  knot  of  men  who 
were  pressing  him  and  who  had  already  seized  Ali  Baba. 

Then,  from  the  banisters  above,  Neeland  and  Sen- 
878 


A  BAT  HUNT 


goun  saw  Brandes,  moving  stealthily,  swiftly,  edge  his 
way  to  a  further  door. 

Steadying  the  elbow  of  his  pistol  hand  in  the  hollow 
cup  of  his  left  palm,  his  weapon  level,  swerving  as  his 
quarry  moved,  he  presently  fired  at  Golden  Beard  and 
got  him  through  the  back.  And  then  he  shot  him  again 
deliberately,  through  the  body,  as  the  giant  turned, 
made  a  menacing  gesture  toward  him;  took  an  uncer 
tain  step  in  his  direction;  another  step,  wavering, 
blindly  grotesque ;  then  stood  swaying  there  under  the 
glare  of  the  partly  shattered  chandelier  from  which 
hung  long  shreds  of  crystal  prisms. 

And  Brandes,  aiming  once  more  with  methodical  and 
merciless  precision,  and  taking  what  time  he  required  to 
make  a  bull's-eye  on  this  great,  reeling,  golden-crowned 
bull,  fired  the  third  shot  at  his  magnificent  head. 

The  bronze  Barye  lion  dropped  from  Golden  Beard's 
nerveless  fist;  the  towering  figure,  stiffening,  fell  over 
rather  slowly  and  lay  across  the  velvet  carpet  as  rigid 
as  a  great  tree. 

Brandes  went  into  the  room,  leaned  over  the  dying 
man  and  fired  into  his  body  until  his  pistol  was  empty. 
Then  he  replaced  the  exhausted  clip  leisurely,  leering 
down  at  his  victim. 

There  was  a  horrid  sound  from  the  stairs,  where  Cur- 
foot  and  another  man  were  killing  a  waiter.  Strange, 
sinister  faces  appeared  everywhere  from  the  smoke- 
filled  club  rooms ;  Stull  came  out  into  the  hallway  below 
and  shouted  up  through  the  stair-well: 

"Say,  Eddie !  For  Christ's  sake  come  down  here ! 
There's  a  mob  outside  on  the  street  and  they're  tearing 
the  iron  shutters  off  the  cafe !" 

Curfoot  immediately  started  downstairs ;  Brandes, 
pistol  in  hand,  came  slowly  out  of  the  club  rooms,  still 

379 


THE  DARK  STAR 


leering,  his  slitted,  greenish  eyes  almost  phosphorescent 
in  the  semi-obscurity. 

Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  Use  Dumont  standing 
close  behind  Sengoun  and  Neeland  on  the  landing  above. 

"By  God!"  he  shouted  to  Curfoot.  "Here  she  is, 
Doc !  Tell  your  men !  Tell  them  she's  up  here  on  the 
next  floor!" 

Sengoun  immediately  fired  at  Brandes,  who  did  not 
return  the  shot  but  went  plunging  downstairs  into  the 
smoky  obscurity  below. 

"Come  on!"  roared  Sengoun  to  Neeland,  starting 
forward  with  levelled  weapon.  "They've  all  gone  crazy 
and  it's  time  we  were  getting  out  of  this !" 

"Quick!"  whispered  Neeland  to  Use  Dumont.  "Fol 
low  me  downstairs !  It's  the  only  chance  for  you  now !" 

But  the  passageway  was  blocked  by  a  struggling, 
cursing,  panting  crowd,  and  they  were  obliged  to  re 
treat  into  the  club  rooms. 

In  the  salle  de  jeu,  Ali  Baba,  held  fast  by  three  men 
dressed  as  waiters,  suddenly  tripped  up  two  of  them, 
turned,  and  leaped  for  the  doorway.  The  two  men  who 
had  been  tripped  scrambled  to  their  feet  and  tore  after 
him.  When  they  reached  the  hallway  the  Eurasian 
was  gone ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  there  came  the  crash  of 
a  splintered  door  from  the  landing  above ;  and  the  dim 
corridor  rang  with  the  frightful  screaming  of  a  woman. 

"It's — that — that — Russian  girl!"  stammered  Use 
Dumont ;  " — The  girl  I  locked  in !  Oh,  my  God ! — my 
God !  Karl  Breslau  is  killing  her !" 

Neeland  sprang  into  the  hall  and  leaped  up  the 
stairs;  but  the  three  men  disguised  as  waiters  had 
arrived  before  him. 

And  there,  across  the  threshold  of  the  bedroom, 
backed  up  flat  against  the  shattered  door,  Ali  Baba 

380 


A  BAT  HUNT 


was  already  fighting  for  his  life ;  and  the  frightened 
Russian  girl  crept  out  from  the  bedroom  behind  him 
and  ran  to  Neeland  for  protection. 

Twice  Neeland  aimed  at  Ali  Baba,  but  could  not 
bring  himself  to  fire  at  the  bleeding,  rabid  object  which 
snarled  and  slavered  and  bit  and  kicked,  regardless  of 
the  blows  raining  on  him.  At  last  one  of  his  assailants 
broke  the  half  demented  creature's  arm  with  a  chair; 
and  the  bloody,  battered  thing  squeaked  like  a  crip 
pled  rat  and  darted  away  amid  the  storm  of  blows 
descending,  limping  and  floundering  up  the  attic 
stairs,  his  broken  arm  flapping  with  every  gasping 
bound. 

After  him  staggered  his  sweating  and  exhausted  as 
sailants,  reeling  past  Neeland  and  Use  Dumont  and 
the  terrified  Russian  girl  who  crouched  behind  them. 
But,  halfway  up  the  stairs  all  three  halted  and  stood 
clinging  to  the  banisters  as  though  listening  to  some 
thing  on  the  floor  above  them. 

Neeland  heard  it,  too :  from  the  roof  came  a  ripping, 
splintering  sound,  as  though  people  on  the  slates  were 
prying  up  the  bolted  scuttle.  The  three  men  on  the 
stairs  hesitated  a  moment  longer;  then  turned  to  flee, 
too  late ;  a  hail  of  pistol  shots  swept  the  attic  stairs ; 
all  three  men  came  pitching  and  tumbling  down  to  the 
landing. 

Two  of  them  lay  still;  one  rose  immediately  and 
limped  on  again  down  the  hallway,  calling  over  the 
banisters  to  those  below: 

"The  Germans  on  the  leads  'ave  busted  into  the  gar 
ret  !  Breslau  is  up  'ere !  Send  along  those  American 
gunmen,  or  somebody  what  can  shoot !" 

He  was  a  grey-haired  Englishman,  smooth  shaven 
and  grim;  and,  as  he  stood  there  at  the  head  of  the 

381 


THE  DARK  STAR 


further  stairs,  breathing  heavily,  awaiting  aid  from 
below,  he  said  to  Neeland  coolly  enough: 

"You'd  better  go  below,  sir.  We  'ad  our  orders  to 
take  this  Breslau  rat  alive,  but  we  can't  do  it  now,  and 
there's  like  to  be  a  'orrid  mess  'ere  directly.'* 

"Can  we  get  through  below?" 

" You  can,"  said  the  man  significantly,  "but  they'll 
be  detaining  one  o'  them  ladies  at  the  door." 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  said  Use  Dumont. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  do " 

She  sprang  toward  the  attic  stairway,  but  the  British 
agent  whipped  out  a  pistol  and  covered  her. 

"No,"  he  said  grimly.  "You're  wanted  below.  Go 
down!" 

She  came  slowly  back  to  where  Neeland  was  standing. 

"You'll  have  to  take  your  chance  below,"  he  said 
under  his  breath.  "I'll  stand  by  you  to  the  end." 

She  smiled  and  continued  on  toward  the  stairs  where 
the  English  agent  stood.  Neeland  and  the  Russian  girl 
followed  her. 

The   agent  said: 

"There's  'ell  to  pay  below,  sir." 

The  depths  of  the  house  rang  with  the  infernal  din 
of  blows  falling  on  iron  shutters.  A  deeper,  more  sin 
ister  roar  rose  from  the  mob  outside.  There  was  a 
struggle  going  on  inside  the  building,  too;  Neeland 
could  hear  the  trampling  and  surging  of  men  on  every 
floor — voices  calling  from  room  to  room,  shouts  of 
anger,  the  terrible  outcry  of  a  man  in  agony. 

"Wot  a  rat's  nest,  then,  there  was  in  this  here  blessed 
'ouse,  sir!"  said  the  British  agent,  coolly.  "If  we  get 
Breslau  and  the  others  on  the  roof  we've  bagged  'em 
all." 

The  Russian  girl  was  trembling  so  violently  that 
382 


A  BAT  HUNT 


Neeland  took  her  by  the  arm.  But  Use  Dumont,  giving 
her  a  glance  of  contempt,  moved  calmly  past  the  British 
agent  to  the  head  of  the  stairway. 

"Come,"  she  said  to  Neeland. 

The  agent,  leaning  over  the  banisters,  shouted  to  a 
man  on  the  next  floor: 

"Look  sharp  below  there !  I'm  sendin'  Miss  Dumont 
down  with  Mr.  Neeland,  the  American !  Take  her  in 
charge,  Bill!" 

"Send  her  along!"  bawled  the  man,  framing  his  face 
with  both  hands,  "Keep  Breslau  on  the  roof  a  bit  and 
we'll  'ave  the  beggar  in  a  few  moments !" 

Somebody  else  shouted  up  from  the  tumult  below: 

"It's  war,  'Arry!  'Ave  you  'card?  It's  war  this 
morning !  Them  'Uns  'as  declared  war  !  And  the  per- 
lice  is  a-killin'  of  the  Apaches  all  over  Paris !" 

Use  Dumont  looked  curiously  at  the  agent,  calmly  at 
Neeland,  then,  dropping  one  hand  on  the  banisters,  she 
went  lightly  down  the  stairs  toward  the  uproar  below, 
followed  by  Neeland  and  the  Russian  girl  clinging  to 
his  arm  with  both  desperate  little  hands. 

The  British  agent  hung  far  over  the  banisters  until 
he  saw  his  colleague  join  them  on  the  floor  below;  then, 
reassured,  and  on  guard  again,  he  leaned  back  against 
the  corridor  wall,  his  pistol  resting  on  his  thigh,  and 
fixed  his  cold  grey  eyes  on  the  attic  stairs  once  more. 

The  secret  agent  who  now  joined  Neeland  and  Use 
Dumont  on  the  fourth  floor  had  evidently  been  con 
structing  a  barricade  across  the  hallway  as  a  precau 
tion  in  case  of  a  rush  from  the  Germans  on  the  roof. 

Chairs  and  mattresses,  piled  shoulder  high,  ob 
structed  the  passageway,  blocking  the  stairs;  and  the 
secret  agent — a  very  young  man  with  red  hair  and  in 
the  garb  of  a  waiter — clambered  over  it,  revolver  in 

383 


THE  DARK  STAR 


one  hand,  a  pair  of  handcuffs  in  the  other.  He  lost  his 
balance  on  top  of  the  shaky  heap ;  strove  desperately 
to  recover  it,  scrambled  like  a  cat  in  a  tub,  stumbled, 
rolled  over  on  a  mattress. 

And  there  Neeland  pinned  him,  closing  his  mouth 
with  one  hand  and  his  throat  with  the  other,  while  Use 
Dumont  tore  weapon  and  handcuffs  from  his  grasp, 
snapped  the  latter  over  his  wrists,  snatched  the  case 
from  a  bedroom  pillow  lying  among  the  mattresses,  and, 
with  Neeland's  aid,  swathed  the  struggling  man's  head 
in  it. 

"Into  that  clothes-press !"  whispered  Use,  pointing 
along  the  hallway  where  a  door  swung  open. 

"Help  me  lift  him !"  motioned  Neeland. 

Together  they  got  him  clear  of  the  shaky  barricade 
and,  lugging  him  between  them,  deposited  him  on  the 
floor  of  the  clothes-press  and  locked  the  door. 

So  silent  had  they  been  that,  listening,  they  heard 
no  movement  from  the  watcher  on  the  floor  above,  who 
stood  guard  at  the  attic  stairs.  And  it  was  evident 
he  had  heard  nothing  to  make  him  suspicious. 

The  Russian  girl,  dreadfully  pale,  leaned  against  the 
wall  as  though  her  limbs  scarcely  supported  her.  Nee 
land  passed  his  arm  under  hers,  nodded  to  Use  Dumont, 
and  started  cautiously  down  the  carpeted  stairs,  his 
automatic  pistol  in  one  hand,  and  the  revolver  taken 
from  the  imprisoned  secret  agent  clutched  tightly  in 
the  other. 

Down  the  stairs  they  crept,  straight  toward  the 
frightful  tumult  still  raging  below — down  past  the 
wrecked  club  rooms;  past  a  dead  man  sprawling  on 
the  landing  across  the  blood-soaked  carpet — down  into 
the  depths  of  the  dusky  building  toward  the  lighted  cafe 
floor  whence  came  the  uproar  of  excited  men,  while, 

384 


I 


i 


A  RAT  HUNT 


from  the  street  outside,  rose  the  frantic  yelling  of  the 
mob  mingled  with  the  crash  of  glass  and  the  clanging 
dissonance  of  iron  grilles  and  shutters  which  were  be 
ing  battered  into  fragments. 

"It's  my  chance,  now !"  whispered  Use  Dumont,  slip 
ping  past  him  like  a  shadow. 

For  a  moment  he  saw  her  pilhouetted  against  the  yel 
low  electric  glare  on  the  stairs  below,  then,  half  carry 
ing  the  almost  helpless  Russian  girl,  he  stumbled  down 
the  last  flight  of  stairs  and  pushed  his  way  through 
at  hurrying  group  of  men  who  seemed  to  be  searching 
for  something,  for  they  were  tearing  open  cupboards 
and  buffets,  dragging  out  table  drawers  and  tumbling 
linen,  crockery,  and  glassware  all  over  the  black  and 
white  marble  floor. 

The  whole  place  was  ankle  deep  in  shattered  glass 
and  broken  bottles,  and  the  place  reeked  with  smoke 
and  the  odour  of  wine  and  spirits. 

Neeland  forced  his  way  forward  into  the  cafe, 
looked  around  for  Sengoun,  and  saw  him  almost  imme 
diately. 

The  young  Russian,  flushed,  infuriated,  his  collar 
gone  and  his  coat  in  tatters,  was  struggling  with  some 
men  who  held  both  his  arms  but  did  not  offer  to  strike 
him. 

Behind  him,  crowded  back  into  a  corner  near  the 
cashier's  steel-grilled  desk,  stood  Use  Dumont,  calm, 
disdainful,  confronted  by  Brandes,  whose  swollen, 
greenish  eyes,  injected  with  blood,  glared  redly  at  her. 
Stull  had  hold  of  him  and  was  trying  to  drag  him 
away: 

"For  God's  sake,  Eddie,  shut  your  mouth,"  he  pleaded 
in  English.  "You  can't  do  that  to  her,  whatever  she 
done  to  you !" 

385 


THE  DARK  STAR 


But  Brandes,  disengaging  himself  with  a  jerk,  pushed 
his  Way  past  Sengoun  to  where  Use  stood. 

"I've  got  the  goods  on  you!"  he  said  in  a  ferocious 
voice  that  neither  Stull  nor  Curfoot  recognised.  "You 
know  what  you  did  to  me,  don't  you !  You  took  my  wife 
from  me !  Yes,  my  wife!  She  was  my  wife !  She  is  my 
wife ! — For  all  you  did,  you  lying,  treacherous  slut ! — 
For  all  you've  done  to  break  me,  double-cross  me,  ruin 
me,  drive  me  out  of  every  place  I  went !  And  now  I've 
got  you !  I've  sold  you  out !  Get  that?  And  you  know 
what  they'll  do  to  you,  don't  you?  Well,  you'll  see 
w]ien " 

Curfoot  and  Stull  threw  themselves  against  him,  but 
Brandes,  his  round  face  pasty  with  fury,  struggled 
back  again  to  confront  Use  Dumont. 

"Ruined  me !"  he  repeated.  "Took  away  from  me 
the  only  thing  God  ever  gave  me  for  my  own !  Took  my 
wife!" 

"You  dog!"  said  Use  Dumont  very  slowly.  "You 
dirty  dog !" 

A  frightful  spasm  crossed  Brandes'  features,  and 
Stull  snatched  at  the  pistol  he  had  whipped  out.  There 
was  a  struggle;  Brandes  wrenched  the  weapon  free;  but 
Neeland  tore  his  way  past  Curfoot  and  struck  Brandes 
in  the  face  with  the  butt  of  his  heavy  revolver. 

Instantly  the  group  parted  right  and  left;  Sengoun 
suddenly  twisted  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  men  who 
held  him,  sprang  upon  Curfoot,  and  jerked  the  pistol 
from  his  fist.  At  the  same  moment  the  entire  front  of 
the  cafe  gave  way  and  the  mob  crashed  inward  with  a 
roar  amid  the  deafening  din  of  shattered  metal  and  the 
clash  of  splintering  glass. 

Through  the  dust  and  falling  shower  of  debris,  Bran 
des  fired  at  Use  Dumont,  reeled  about  in  the  whirl  of 

386 


A  RAT  HUNT 


the  inrushing  throng  engulfing  him.  still  firing  blindly 
at  the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife. 

Neeland  put  a  bullet  into  his  pistol  arm,  and  it  fell. 
But  Brandes  stretched  it  out  again  with  a  supreme 
effort,  pointing  at  Use  Dumont  with  jewelled  and 
bloody  fingers : 

"That  woman  is  a  German  spy !  A  spy !"  he 
screamed.  "You  damn  French  mutts,  do  you  under 
stand  what  I  say !  Oh,  my  God !  Will  someone  who 
speaks  French  tell  them !  Will  somebody  tell  them 
she's  a  spy !  La  femme!  Cette  femme!"  he  shrieked. 

"Elle  est  espion!  Esp /"  He  fired  again,  with  his 

left  hand.  Then  Sengoun  shot  him  through  the  head ; 
and  at  the  same  moment  somebody  stabbed  Curfoot  in 
the  neck;  and  the  lank  American  gambler  turned  and 
cried  out  to  Stull  in  a  voice  half  strangled  with  pain 
and  fury: 

"Look  out,  Ben.  There  are  apaches  in  this  mob! 
That  one  in  the  striped  jersey  knifed  me " 

"Tiens,  v'la  pour  toi,  sale  mec  de  malheur!"  muttered 
a  voice  at  his  elbow,  and  a  blow  from  a  slung-shot 
crushed  the  base  of  his  skull. 

As  Curfoot  crumpled  up,  Stull  caught  him;  but  the 
tall  gambler's  dead  weight  bore  Stull  to  his  knees  among 
the  fierce  apaches. 

And  there,  fighting  in  silence  to  the  end,  his  chalky 
face  of  a  sick  clown  meeting  undaunted  the  overwhelm 
ing  odds  against  him,  Stull  was  set  upon  by  the  apaches 
and  stabbed  and  stabbed  until  his  clothing  was  a  heap 
of  ribbons  and  the  watch  and  packet  of  French  bank 
notes  which  the  assassins  tore  from  his  body  were  drip 
ping  with  his  blood. 

Sengoun  and  Neeland,  their  evening  clothes  in  tat 
ters,  hatless,  dishevelled,  began  shooting  their  way  out 

387 


THE  DARK  STAR 


of  the  hell  of  murder  and  destruction  raging  around 
them. 

Behind  them  crept  Use  Dumont  and  the  Russian  girl : 
dust  and  smoke  obscured  the  place  where  the  mob  raged 
from  floor  to  floor  in  a  frenzy  of  destruction,  tearing 
out  fixtures,  telephones,  window-sashes,  smashing  tables, 
bar  fixtures,  mirrors,  ripping  the  curtains  from  the 
windows  and  the  very  carpets  from  the  floor  in  their 
overwhelming  rage  against  this  Gcman  cafe. 

That  apaches  had  entered  with  them  the  mob  cared 
nothing;  the  red  lust  of  destruction  blinded  them  to 
everything  except  their  terrible  necessity  for  the  anni 
hilation  of  this  place. 

If  they  saw  murder  done,  and  robbery — if  they  heard 
shots  in  the  tumult  and  saw  pistol  flashes  through  the 
dust  and  grey  light  of  daybreak,  they  never  turned 
from  their  raging  work. 

Out  of  the  frightful  turmoil  stormed  Neeland  and 
Sengoun,  their  pistols  spitting  flame,  the  two  women 
clinging  to  their  ragged  sleeves.  Twice  the  apaches 
barred  their  way  with  bared  knives,  crouching  for  a 
rush ;  but  Sengoun  fired  into  them  and  Neeland's  bullets 
dropped  the  ruffian  in  the  striped  jersey  where  he  stood 
over  Stull's  twitching  body ;  and  the  sinister  creatures 
leaped  back  from  the  levelled  weapons,  turned,  and  ran. 

Through  the  gaping  doorway  sprang  Sengoun,  his 
empty  pistol  menacing  the  crowd  that  choked  the 
shadowy  street;  Neeland  flung  away  his  pistol  and 
turned  his  revolver  on  those  in  the  cafe  behind  him,  as 
Use  Dumont  and  the  Russian  girl  crept  through  and 
out  into  the  street. 

The  crowd  was  cheering  and  shouting: 

"Down  with  the  Germans!  To  the  Brasserie 
Schwarz !" 

388 


« 

3C 

a 

eg 

s 

0 

£ 

:; 

H 


A  EAT  HUNT 


An  immense  wave  of  people  surged  suddenly  across 
the  rue  Vilna,  headed  toward  the  German  cafes  on  the 
Boulevard ;  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  Neeland 
caught  sight  of  policemen  standing  in  little  groups, 
coolly  watching  the  destruction  of  the  Cafe  des 
Bulgars. 

Either  they  were  too  few  to  cope  with  the  mob,  or 
they  were  indifferent  as  to  what  was  being  done  to  a 
German  cafe,  but  one  thing  was  plain ;  the  police  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  that  murder  had  been  rampant  in 
the  place.  For,  when  suddenly  a  dead  body  was  thrown 
from  the  door  out  on  the  sidewalk,  their  police  whistles 
shrilled  through  the  street,  and  they  started  for  the 
mob,  resolutely,  pushing,  striking  with  white-gloved 
fists,  shouting  for  right  of  way. 

Other  police  came  running,  showing  that  they  had 
been  perfectly  aware  that  German  cafes  were  being  at 
tacked  and  wrecked.  A  mounted  inspector  forced  his 
horse  along  the  swarming  sidewalk,  crying: 

"Allans!  Circulez!  C'est  defendu  de  s'attrouper 
dans  la  rue!  Mais  fichez-moi  le  camp,  nom  de  Dieu!  Les 
Allemands  ne  sont  pas  encore  dans  la  place!" 

Along  the  street  and  on  the  Boulevard  mobs  were 
forming  and  already  storming  three  other  German 
cafes ;  a  squadron  of  Republican  Guard  cavalry  arrived 
at  a  trot,  their  helmets  glittering  in  the  increasing  day 
light,  driving  before  them  a  mob  which  had  begun  to 
attack  a  cafe  on  the  corner. 

A  captain,  superbly  mounted,  rode  ahead  of  the  ad 
vancing  line  of  horses,  warning  the  throng  back  into 
the  rue  Vilna,  up  which  the  mob  now  recoiled,  sullenly 
protesting. 

Neeland  and  Sengoun  and  the  two  women  were  forced 
back  with  the  crowd  as  a  double  rank  of  steel-helmeted 

389 


THE  DARK  STAR 


horsemen  advanced,  sweeping  everybody  into  the  rue 
Vilna. 

Up  the  street,  through  the  vague  morning  light,  they 
retired  between  ranks  of  closed  and  silent  houses,  past 
narrow,  evil-looking  streets  and  stony  alleys  still  dark 
with  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

Into  one  of  these  Neeland  started  with  Use  Dumont, 
but  Sengoun  drew  him  back  with  a  sharp  exclamation 
of  warning.  At  the  same  time  the  crowd  all  around 
them  became  aware  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  maze 
of  dusky  lanes  and  alleys  past  which  they  were  being 
driven  by  the  cavalry;  and  the  people  broke  and  scat 
tered  like  rabbits,  darting  through  the  cavalry,  dodg 
ing,  scuttling  under  the  very  legs  of  the  horses. 

The  troop,  thrown  into  disorder,  tried  to  check  the 
panic-stricken  flight;  a  brigadier,  spurring  forward  to 
learn  the  cause  of  the  hysterical  stampede,  drew  bridle 
sharply,  then  whipped  his  pistol  out  of  the  saddle-hol 
ster,  and  galloped  into  an  Impasse. 

The  troop  captain,  pushing  his  horse,  caught  sight 
of  Sengoun  and  Neeland  in  the  remains  of  their  eve 
ning  dress ;  and  he  glanced  curiously  at  them,  and  at 
the  two  young  women  clad  in  the  rags  of  evening 
gowns. 

"Nom  de  Dieu!"  he  cried.  "What  are  such  people  as 
you  doing  here?  Go  back!  This  is  no  quarter  for 
honest  folk!" 

"What  are  those  police  doing  in  the  alleys?"  de 
manded  Sengoun ;  but  the  captain  cantered  his  horse  up 
the  street,  pistol  lifted;  and  they  saw  him  fire  from  his 
saddle  at  a  man  who  darted  out  of  an  alley  and  who 
started  to  run  across  the  street. 

The  captain  missed  every  shot,  but  a  trooper,  whose 
horse  had  come  up  on  the  sidewalk  beside  Neeland,  fired 

390 


A  RAT  HUNT 


twice  more  after  the  running  man,  and  dropped  him  at 
the  second  shot. 

"A  good  business,  too,"  he  said  calmly,  winking  at 
Neeland.  "You  bourgeois  ought  to  be  glad  that  we're 
ordered  to  clean  up  Paris  for  you.  And  now  is  the  time 
to  do  it,"  he  added,  reloading  his  weapon. 

Sengoun  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Neeland: 

"They're  ridding  the  city  of  apaches.  It's  plain 
enough  that  they  have  orders  to  kill  them  where  they 
find  them !  Look !"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  dead  wall 
across  the  street ;  "It's  here  at  last,  and  Paris  is  clean 
ing  house  and  getting  ready  for  it!  This  is  war,  Nee 
land — war  at  last!" 

Neeland  looked  across  the  street  where,  under  a  gas 
lamp  on  a  rusty  iron  bracket,  was  pasted  the  order  for 
general  mobilisation.  And  on  the  sidewalk  at  the  base 
of  the  wall  lay  a  man,  face  downward,  his  dusty  shoes 
crossed  under  the  wide  flaring  trousers,  the  greasy 
casquet  still  crowding  out  his  lop  ears;  his  hand 
clenched  beside  a  stiletto  which  lay  on  the  stone  flagging 
beside  him. 

"An  apache,"  said  Sengoun  coolly.  "That's  right, 
too.  It's  the  way  we  do  in  Russia  when  we  clean  house 
for  war " 

His  face  reddened  and  lighted  joyously. 

"Thank  God  for  my  thousand  lances  !"  he  said,  lifting 
his  eyes  to  the  yellowing  sky  between  the  houses  in  the 
narrow  street.  "Thank  God!  Thank  God!" 

Now,  across  the  intersections  of  streets  and  alleys 
beyond  where  they  stood,  policemen  and  Garde  cavalry 
were  shooting  into  doorways,  basements,  and  up  the 
sombre,  dusky  lanes,  the  dry  crack  of  their  service  re 
volvers  re-echoing  noisily  through  the  street. 

Toward  the  Boulevard  below,  a  line  of  police  and  of 
391 


THE  DARK  STAR 


cavalrymen  blocked  the  rue  Vilna;  and,  beyond  them, 
the  last  of  the  mob  was  being  driven  from  the  Cafe  des 
Bulgars,  where  the  first  ambulances  were  arriving  and 
the  police,  guarding  the  ruins,  were  already  looking 
out  of  windows  on  the  upper  floors. 

A  cavalryman  came  clattering  down  the  rue  Vilna, 
gesticulating  and  calling  out  to  Sengoun  and  Neeland 
to  take  their  ladies  and  depart. 

"Get  us  a  taxicab — there's  a  good  fellow !"  cried  Sen 
goun  in  high  spirits;  and  the  cavalryman,  looking  at 
their  dishevelled  attire,  laughed  and  nodded  as  he  rode 
ahead  of  them  down  the  rue  Vilna. 

There  were  several  taxicabs  on  the  Boulevard,  their 
drivers  staring  up  at  the  wrecked  cafe.  As  Neeland 
spoke  to  the  driver  of  one  of  the  cabs,  Use  Dumont 
stepped  back  beside  the  silent  girl  whom  she  had  locked 
in  the  bedroom. 

"I  gave  you  a  chance,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"What  may  I  expect  from  you?  Answer  me  quickly! 
— What  am  I  to  expect?" 

The  girl  seemed  dazed: 

"N-nothing,"  she  stammered.  "The — the  horror  of 
that  place — the  killing — has  sickened  me.  I — I  want 
to  go  home " 

"You  do  not  intend  to  denounce  me?" 

"No— Oh,  God!  No!" 

"Is  that  the  truth?  If  you  are  lying  to  me  it  means 
my  death." 

The  girl  gazed  at  her  in  horror ;  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes : 

"I  couldn't — I  couldn't!"  she  stammered  in  a  chok 
ing  voice.  "I've  never  before  seen  death — never  seen 
how  it  came — how  men  die !  This — this  killing  is  hor 
rible,  revolting!"  She  had  laid  one  trembling  little 


A  EAT  HUNT 


hand  on  Use  Dumont's  bare  shoulder.  "I  don't  want  to 
have  you  killed;  the  idea  of  death  makes  me  ill!  I'm 
going  home- — that  is  all  I  ask  for — to  go  home " 

She  dropped  her  pretty  head  and  began  to  sob  hys 
terically,  standing  there  under  the  growing  daylight  of 
the  Boulevard,  in  her  tattered  evening  gown. 

Suddenly  Use  Dumont  threw  both  arms  around  her 
and  kissed  the  feverish,  tear-wet  face: 

"You  weren't  meant  for  this!"  she  whispered.  "You 
do  it  for  money.  Go  home.  Do  anything  else  for  wages 
— anything  except  this  ! — Anything,  I  tell  you 

Neeland's  hand  touched  her  arm: 

"I  have  a  cab.     Are  you  going  home  with  her?" 

"I  dare  not,"  she  said. 

"Then  will  you  take  this  Russian  girl  to  her  home, 
Sengoun?"  he  asked.  And  added  in  a  low  voice :  "She 
is  one  of  your  own  people,  you  know." 

"All  right,"  said  Sengoun  blissfully.  "I'd  take  the 
devil  home  if  you  asked  me !  Besides,  I  can  talk  to  her 
about  my  regiment  on  the  way.  That  will  be  wonder 
ful,  Neeland !  That  will  be  quite  wonderful !  I  can  talk 
to  her  in  Russian  about  my  regiment  all  the  way  home  !" 

He  laughed  and  looked  at  his  friend,  at  Use  Dumont, 
at  the  drooping  figure  he  was  to  take  under  his  escort. 
He  glanced  down  at  his  own  ragged  attire  where  he 
stood  hatless,  collarless,  one  sleeve  of  his  evening  coat 
ripped  open  to  the  shoulder. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful !"  he  cried,  bursting  out  into  un 
controllable  laughter.  "Neeland,  my  dear  comrade, 
this  has  been  the  most  delightfully  wonderful  night  of 
my  entire  life !  But  the  great  miracle  is  still  to  come ! 
Hurrah  for  a  thousand  lances  !  Hurrah !  Town  taken 
by  Prince  Erlik!  Hurrah!" 

And  he  seized  the  young  girl  whom  he  was  to  escort 
393 


THE  DARK  STAR 


to  her  home — wherever  that  hazy  locality  might  be — 
and  carried  her  in  his  arms  to  the  taxicab,  amid  en 
couraging  shouts  of  laughter  from  the  line  of  cavalry 
men  who  had  been  watching  the  proceedings  from  the 
corner  of  the  rue  Vilna. 

That  shout  of  Gallic  appreciation  inflamed  Sengoun : 
he  reached  for  his  hat,  to  lift  and  wave  it,  but  found  no 
hat  on  his  head.  So  he  waved  his  tattered  sleeve  in 
stead  : 

"Hurrah  for  France!"  he  shouted.  "Hurrah  for 
Russia!  I'm  Sengoun.  of  the  Terek! — And  I  am  to 
have  a  thousand  lances  with  which  to  explain  to  the 
Germans  my  opinion  of  them  and  of  their  Emperor!" 

The  troopers  cheered  him  from  their  stirrups,  in  spite 
of  their  officers,  who  pretended  to  check  their  men. 

"Vive  la  France!  Vive  la  Russie!"  they  roared. 
"Forward  the  Terek  Cossacks !" 

Sengoun  turned  to  Use  Dumont: 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "in  gratitude  and  admiration!" 
— and  he  gracefully  saluted  her  hand.  Then,  to  his 
comrade:  "Neeland!" — seizing  both  the  American's 
hands.  "Such  a  night  and  sirch  a  comrade  I  shall  never 
forget !  I  adore  our  night  together ;  I  love  you  as  a 
brother.  I  shall  see  you  before  I  go?" 

"Surely,  Sengoun,  my  dear  comrade!" 

"Alars — au  revoir!"  He  sprang  into  the  taxicab. 
"To  the  Russian  Embassy!"  he  called  out;  and  turned 
to  the  half  fainting  girl  on  the  seat  beside  him. 

"Where  do  you  live,  my  dear?"  he  asked  very  gently, 
taking  her  icy  hand  in  his. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SUNRISE 

WHEN  the  taxicab  carrying  Captain  Sengoun  and 
the  unknown  Russian  girl  had  finally  disappeared  far 
away  down  the  Boulevard  in  the  thin  grey  haze  of  early 
morning,  Neeland  looked  around  him;  and  it  was  a 
scene  unfamiliar,  unreal,  that  met  his  anxious  eyes. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  gilded  the  chimney  tops ;  east 
and  west,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  the  Boulevard  stretched 
away  under  its  double  line  of  trees  between  ranks  of 
closed  and  silent  houses,  lying  still  and  mysterious  in 
the  misty,  bluish-grey  light. 

Except  for  police  and  municipal  guards,  and  two 
ambulances  moving  slowly  away  from  the  ruined  cafe 
across  the  street,  the  vast  Boulevard  was  deserted;  no 
taxicabs  remained ;  no  omnibuses  moved ;  no  early  work 
men  passed,  no  slow-moving  farm  wagons  and  milk  wains 
from  the  suburbs ;  no  chiffoniers  with  scrap-filled  sacks 
on  their  curved  backs,  and  steel-hooked  staves,  furtively 
sorting  and  picking  among  the  night's  debris  on  side 
walk  and  in  gutter. 

Here  and  there  in  front  of  half  a  dozen  wrecked  cafes 
little  knots  of  policemen  stood  on  the  glass-littered 
sidewalk,  in  low-voiced  consultation;  far  down  the 
Boulevard,  helmets  gleamed  dully  through  the  haze 
where  municipal  cavalry  were  quietly  riding  off  the 
mobs  and  gradually  pushing  them  back  toward  the 
Montmartre  and  Villette  quarters,  whence  they  had 
arrived. 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Mounted  Municipals  still  sat  their  beautiful  horses  in 
double  line  across  the  corner  of  the  rue  Vilna  and  par 
allel  streets,  closing  that  entire  quarter  where,  to  judge 
from  a  few  fitful  and  far-away  pistol  shots,  the  methodi 
cal  apache  hunt  was  still  in  progress. 

And  it  was  a  strange  and  sinister  phase  of  Paris  that 
Neeland  now  gazed  upon  through  the  misty  stillness  of 
early  morning.  For  there  was  something  terrible  in 
the  sudden  quiet,  where  the  swift  and  shadowy  fury  of 
earliest  dawn  had  passed:  and  the  wrecked  buildings 
sagged  like  corpses,  stark  and  disembowelled,  spilling 
out  their  dead  intestines  indecently  under  the  whitening 
sky. 

Save  for  the  echoes  of  distant  shots,  no  louder  than 
the  breaking  of  a  splinter — save  for  the  deadened 
stamp  and  stir  of  horses,  a  low-voiced  order,  the  fainter 
clash  of  spurs  and  scabbards — an  intense  stillness 
brooded  now  over  the  city,  ominously  prophetic  of  what 
fateful  awakening  the  coming  sunrise  threatened  for 
the  sleeping  capital. 

Neeland  turned  and  looked  at  Use  Dumont.  She 
stood  motionless  on  the  sidewalk,  in  the  clear,  colour 
less  light,  staring  fixedly  across  the  street  at  the 
debris  of  the  gaping,  shattered  Cafe  des  Bulgars.  Her 
evening  gown  hung  in  filmy  tinted  shreds ;  her  thick, 
dark  hair  in  lustrous  disorder  shadowed  her  white  shoul 
ders  ;  a  streak  of  dry  blood  striped  one  delicate  bare 
arm. 

To  see  her  standing  there  on  the  sidewalk  in  the  full, 
unshadowed  morning  light,  silent,  dishevelled,  scarcely 
clothed,  seemed  to  him  part  of  the  ghastly  unreality  of 
this  sombre  and  menacing  vision,  from  which  he  ought 
to  rouse  himself. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly ;  her  haggard  eyes  met  his: 
396 


SUNRISE 


without  expression;  and  he  found  his  tongue  with  the 
effort  of  a  man  who  strives  for  utterance  through  a 
threatening  dream: 

"We  can't  stay  here,"  he  said.  The  sound  of  his 
own  voice  steadied  and  cleared  his  senses.  He  glanced 
down  at  his  own  attire,  blood-stained,  and  ragged ;  felt 
for  the  loose  end  of  his  collar,  rebuttoned  it,  and  knotted 
the  draggled  white  tie  with  the  unconscious  indifference 
of  habit. 

"What  a  nightmare !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "The 
world  has  been  turned  upside  down  over  night."  He 
looked  up  at  her:  "We  can't  stay  here,"  he  repeated. 
"Where  do  you  live?" 

She  did  not  appear  to  hear  him.  She  had  already 
started  to  move  toward  the  rue  Vilna,  where  the  troop 
ers  barring  that  street  still  sat  their  restive  horses. 
They  were  watching  her  and  her  dishevelled  companion 
with  the  sophisticated  amusement  of  men  who,  by  clean 
daylight,  encounter  fagged-out  revellers  of  a  riotous 
night. 

Neeland  spoke  to  her  again,  then  followed  her  and 
took  her  arm. 

"Where   are   you   going?"   he    repeated,   uneasily. 

"I  shall  give  myself  up,"  she  replied  in  a  dull 
voice. 

"To  whom?" 

"To  the  Municipals  over  there." 

"Give  yourself  up!"  he  repeated.     "Why?" 

She  passed  a  slender  hand  over  her  eyes  as  though 
unutterably  weary: 

"Neeland,"  she  said,  "I  am  lost  already.  .  .  .  And 
I  am  very  tired." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  drawing  her 
back  under  a  porte-cochere.  "You  live  somewhere, 

397 


THE  DARK  STAR 


don't  you?  If  it's  safe  for  you  to  go  back  to  your 
lodgings,  I'll  take  you  there.  Is  it?" 

"No." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  take  you  somewhere  else.  I'll  find 
somewhere  to  take  you " 

She  shook  her  head: 

"It  is  useless,  Neeland.  There  is  no  chance  of  my 
leaving  the  city  now — no  chance  left — no  hope.  It  is 
simpler  for  me  to  end  the  matter  this  way " 

"Can't  you  go  to  the  Turkish  Embassy !" 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  a  surprised,  hopeless 
way: 

"Do  you  suppose  that  any  Embassy  ever  receives  a 
spy  in  trouble?  Do  you  really  imagine  that  any  gov 
ernment  ever  admits  employing  secret  agents,  or  stirs 
a  finger  to  aid  them  when  they  are  in  need?" 

"I  told  you  I'd  stand  by  you,"  he  reminded  her 
bluntly. 

"You  have  been — kind — Neeland." 

"And  you  have  been  very  loyal  to  me,  Scheherazade. 
I  shall  not  abandon  you." 

"How  can  you  help  me?  I  can't  get  out  of  this 
city.  Wherever  I  go,  now,  it  will  be  only  a  matter 
of  a  few  hours  before  I  am  arrested." 

"The  American  Embassy.  There  is  a  man  there," 
he  reminded  her. 

She  shrugged  her  naked  shoulders: 

"I  cannot  get  within  sight  of  the  Trocadero  before 
the  secret  police  arrest  me.  Where  shall  I  go?  I  have 
no  passport,  no  papers,  not  even  false  ones.  If  I  go 
to  the  lodgings  where  I  expected  to  find  shelter  it  means 
my  arrest,  court  martial,  and  execution  in  a  caserne 
within  twenty-four  hours.  And  it  would  involve  others 
who  trust  me — condemn  them  instantly  to  a  firing  squad 

398 


SUNRISE 


— if  I  am  found  by  the  police  in  their  company!  .  .  . 
No,  Neeland.  There's  no  hope  for  me.  Too  many  know 
me  in  Paris.  I  took  a  risk  in  coming  here  when  war 
was  almost  certain.  I  took  my  chances,  and  lost.  It's 
too  late  to  whimper  now." 

As  he  stared  at  her  something  suddenly  brightened 
above  them;  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  the  first  sun 
beam  painting  a  chimney  top  with  palest  gold. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "we've  got  to  get  out  of  this ! 
We've  got  to  go  somewhere — find  a  taxicab  and  get 
under  shelter 

She  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  his  arm  and  moved  for 
ward  beside  him.  He  halted  for  a  moment  on  the  curb, 
looking  up  and  down  the  empty  streets  for  a  cab  of  any 
sort,  then,  with  the  instinct  of  a  man  for  whom  the 
Latin  Quarter  had  once  been  a  refuge  and  a  home, 
he  started  across  the  Boulevard,  his  arm  clasping 
hers. 

All  the  housetops  were  glittering  with  the  sun  as 
they  passed  the  ranks  of  the  Municipal  cavalry. 

A  young  officer  looked  down  mischievously  as  they 
traversed  the  Boulevard — the  only  moving  objects  in 
that  vast  and  still  perspective. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  murmured.  "A  night  like  that  is 
something  to  remember  in  the  winter  of  old  age !" 

Neeland  heard  him.  The  gay,  bantering,  irrespon 
sible  Gallic  wit  awoke  him  to  himself;  the  rising  sun, 
tipping  the  city's  spires  with  fire,  seemed  to  relight  a 
little,  long-forgotten  flame  within  him.  His  sombre  fea 
tures  cleared;  he  said  confidently  to  the  girl  beside 
him: 

"Don't  worry;  we'll  get  you  out  of  it  somehow  or 
other.  It's  been  a  rather  frightful  dream,  Schehera 
zade,  nothing  worse " 

399 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Her  arm  suddenly  tightened  against  his  and  he  turned 
to  look  at  the  shattered  Cafe  cles  Bulgars  which  they 
were  passing,  where  two  policemen  stood  looking  at  a 
cat  which  was  picking  its  way  over  the  mass  of  debris, 
mewing  dismally. 

One  of  the  policemen,  noticing  them,  smiled  sympa 
thetically  at  their  battered  appearance. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  cat  for  your  lively 
menage?"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  melancholy  animal 
which  Neeland  recognised  as  the  dignified  property  of 
the  Cercle  Extranationale. 

The  other  policeman,  more  suspicious,  eyed  Use  Du- 
rnont  closely  as  she  knelt  impulsively  and  picked  up 
the  homeless  cat. 

"Where  are  you  going  in  such  a  state?"  he  asked, 
moving  over  the  heaps  of  splintered  glass  toward  her. 

"Back  to  the  Latin  Quarter,"  said  Neeland,  so  cheer 
fully  that  suspicion  vanished  and  a  faint  grin  replaced 
the  official  frown. 

"Allan's,  mes  enfants,"  he  muttered.  "Faut  pas 
s'attrouper  dans  la  rue.  Also  you  both  are  a  scandal. 
Allans!  Filez!  Houp!  The  sun  is  up  already!" 

They  went  out  across  the  rue  Royale  toward  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  which  spread  away  before  them 
in  deserted  immensity  and  beauty. 

There  were  no  taxicabs  in  sight.  Use,  carrying  the 
cat  in  her  arms,  moved  beside  Neeland  through  the 
deathly  stillness  of  the  city,  as  though  she  were  walking 
in  a  dream.  Everywhere  in  the  pale  blue  sky  above 
them  steeple  and  dome  glittered  with  the  sun;  there 
were  no  sounds  from  quai  or  river ;  no  breeze  stirred 
the  trees;  nothing  moved  on  esplanade  or  bridge;  the 
pale  blue  August  sky  grew  bluer ;  the  gilded  tip  of  the 
obelisk  glittered  like  a  living  flame. 

400 


SUNRISE 


Neeland  turned  and  looked  up  the  Champs  Elysees. 

Far  away  on  the  surface  of  the  immense  avenue  a 
tiny  dark  speck  was  speeding — increasing  in  size,  com 
ing  nearer. 

"A  taxi,"  he  said  with  a  quick  breath  of  relief. 
"We'll  be  all  right  now." 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  speeding  vehicle,  rushing 
toward  them  between  the  motionless  green  ranks  of 
trees.  Neeland  walked  forward  across  the  square  to 
signal  it,  waited,  watching  its  approach  with  a  slight 
uneasiness. 

Now  it  sped  between  the  rearing  stone  horses,  and 
now,  swerving,  swung  to  the  left  toward  the  rue  Royale. 
And  to  his  disgust  and  disappointment  he  saw  it  was 
a  private  automobile. 

"The  devil!"  he  muttered,  turning  on  his  heel. 

At  the  same  moment,  as  though  the  chauffeur  had 
suddenly  caught  an  order  from  within  the  limousine, 
the  car  swung  directly  toward  him  once  more. 

As  he  rejoined  Use,  who  stood  clasping  the  homeless 
cat  to  her  breast,  listlessly  regarding  the  approaching 
automobile,  the  car  swept  in  a  swift  circle  around  the 
fountain  where  they  stood,  stopped  short  beside  them; 
and  a  woman  flung  open  the  door  and  sprang  out  to 
the  pavement. 

And  Use  Dumont,  standing  there  in  the  rags  of  her 
frail  gown,  cuddling  to  her  breast  the  purring  cat, 
looked  up  to  meet  her  doom  in  the  steady  gaze  of  the 
Princess  Nai'a  Mistchenka. 

Every  atom  of  colour  left  her  face,  and  her  ashy 
lips  parted.  Otherwise,  she  made  no  sign  of  fear,  no 
movement. 

There  was  a  second's  absolute  silence;  then  the  dark 
eyes  of  the  Princess  turned  on  Neeland. 

401 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"Good  heavens,  James !"  she  said.  "What  has  hap 
pened  to  you?" 

"Nothing,"  he  said  gaily,  "thanks  to  Miss  Du- 
mont " 

"To  whom?"  interrupted  the  Princess  sharply. 

"To  Miss  Dumont.  We  got  into  a  silly  place  where 
it  began  to  look  as  though  we'd  get  our  heads  knocked 
off,  Sengoun  and  I.  I'm  really  quite  serious,  Princess. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  Miss  Dumont—  '  he  shrugged; 
" — and  that  is  twice  she  has  saved  my  idiotic  head  for 
me,"  he  added  cheerfully. 

The  Princess  Nai'a's  dark  eyes  reverted  to  Use  Du 
mont,  and  the  pallid  girl  met  them  steadily  enough. 
There  was  no  supplication  in  her  own  eyes,  no  shrink 
ing,  only  the  hopeless  tranquillity  that  looks  Destiny 
in  the  face — the  gaze  riveted  unflinchingly  upon  the 
descending  blow. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  Paris  at  such  a  time  as 
this?"  said  the  Princess. 

The  girl's  white  lips  parted  stiffly: 

"Do  you  need  to  ask?" 

For  a  full  minute  the  Princess  bent  a  menacing  gaze 
on  her  in  silence;  then: 

"What  do  you  expect  from  me?"  she  demanded  in  a 
low  voice.  And,  stepping  nearer:  "What  have  you  to 
expect  from  anyone  in  France  on  such  a  day  as  this?" 

Use  Dumont  did  not  answer.  After  a  moment  she 
dropped  her  head  and  fumbled  with  the  rags  of  her 
bodice,  as  though  trying  to  cover  the  delicately  rounded 
shoulders.  A  shaft  of  sunlight,  reflected  from  the  obe 
lisk  to  the  fountain,  played  in  golden  ripples  across  her 
hair. 

Neeland  looked  at  the  Princess  Nai'a: 

"What  you  do  is  none  of  my  business,"  he  said  pleas- 
402 


'.    I 


SUNRISE 


antly,  "but — "  he  smiled  at  her  and  stepped  back  be 
side  Use  Dumont,  and  passed  his  arm  through  hers : 
"I'm  a  grateful  beast,"  he  added  lightly,  "and  if  I've 
nine  lives  to  lose,  perhaps  Miss  Dumont  will  save  seven 
more  of  them  before  I'm  entirely  done  for." 

The  girl  gently  disengaged  his  arm. 

"You'll  only  get  yourself  into  serious  trouble,"  she 
murmured,  "and  you  can't  help  me,  dear  Neeland." 

The  Princess  Nai'a,  flushed  and  exasperated,  bit  her 

HP. 

"James,"  she  said,  "you  are  behaving  absurdly.  That 
woman  has  nothing  to  fear  from  me  now,  and  she  ought 
to  know  it!"  And,  as  Use  lifted  her  head  and  stared 
at  her:  "Yes,  you  ought  to  know  it!"  she  repeated. 
"Your  work  is  ended.  It  ended  today  at  sunrise.  And 
so  did  mine.  War  is  here.  There  is  nothing  further 
for  you  to  do ;  nothing  for  me.  The  end  of  everything 
is  beginning.  What  would  your  death  or  mine  signify 
now,  when  the  dawn  of  such  a  day  as  this  is  the  death 
warrant  for  millions?  What  do  we  count  for  now, 
Mademoiselle  Minna  Minti?" 

"Do  you  not  mean  to  give  me  up,  madame?" 

"Give  you  up?  No.  I  mean  to  get  you  out  of  Paris 
if  I  can.  Give  me  your  cat,  mademoiselle.  Please  help 
her,  James " 

"You — offer  me  your  limousine  ?"  stammered  Use. 

"Give  that  cat  to  me.  Of  course  I  do!  Do  you 
suppose  I  mean  to  leave  you  in  rags  with  your  cat  on 
the  pavement  here?"  And,  to  Neeland:  "Where  is 
Alak?" 

"Gone  home  as  fit  as  a  fiddle.  Am  I  to  receive  the 
hospitality  of  your  limousine  also,  dear  ladjr?  Look  at 
the  state  I'm  in  to  travel  with  two  ladies !" 

The  Princess  Nai'a's  dark  eyes  glimmered ;  she  tucked 
403 


THE  DARK  STAR 


the  cat  comfortably  against  her  shoulder  and  motioned 
Use  into  the  car. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  take  you,  James.  What  on 
earth  has  happened  to  you?"  she  added,  as  he  put  her 
into  the  car,  nodded  to  the  chauffeur,  and,  springing 
in  beside  her,  slammed  the  door. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  two  words,"  he  explained  gaily. 
"Prince  Erlik  and  I  started  for  a  stroll  and  landed, 
ultimately,  in  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars.  And  presently  a 
number  of  gentlemen  began  to  shoot  up  the  place,  and 
Miss  Dumont  stood  by  us  like  a  brick." 

The  Princess  Mistchenka  lifted  the  cat  from  her  lap 
and  placed  it  in  the  arms  of  Use  Durnont. 

"That  ought  to  win  our  gratitude,  I'm  sure,"  she 
said  politely  to  the  girl.  "We  Russians  never  forget 
such  pleasant  obligations.  There  is  a  Cossack  jingle: 

"To  those  who  befriend  our  friends 
Our  duty  never  ends." 

Use  Dumont  bent  low  over  the  purring  cat  in  her 
lap ;  the  Princess  watched  her  askance  from  moment 
to  moment,  and  Neeland  furtively  noted  the  contrast 
between  these  women — one  in  rags  and  haggard  dis 
order  ;  the  other  so  trim,  pretty,  and  fresh  in  her  morn 
ing  walking  suit. 

"James,"  she  said  abruptly,  "we've  had  a  most  horrid 
night,  Ruhannah  and  I.  The  child  waited  up  for  you, 
it  seems — I  thought  she'd  gone  to  bed — and  she  came 
to  my  room  about  two  in  the  morning — the  little  goose 
—as  though  men  didn't  stay  out  all  night !" 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,"  he  said  contritely. 

"You  ought  to  be.  ...  And  Ruhannah  was  so 
disturbed  that  I  put  on  something  and  got  out  of  bed. 
And  after  a  while" — the  Princess  glanced  sardonically 

404 


SUNRISE 


at  Use  Dumont — "I  telephoned  to  various  sources  of 
information  and  was  informed  concerning  the  rather 
lively  episodes  of  your  nocturnal  career  with  Sengoun. 
And  when  I  learned  that  you  and  he  had  been  seen 
to  enter  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars,  I  became  sufficiently 
alarmed  to  notify  several  people  who  might  be  interested 
in  the  matter." 

"One  of  those  people,"  said  Neeland,  smiling,  "was 
escorted  to  her  home  by  Captain  Sengoun,  I  think." 

The  Princess  glanced  out  of  the  window  where  the 
early  morning  sun  glimmered  on  the  trees  as  the  car 
flew  swiftly  through  the  Champs  Elysees. 

"I  heard  that  there  were  some  men  killed  there  last 
night,"  she  said  without  turning. 

"Several,  I  believe,"  admitted  Neeland. 

"Were  you  there,  then?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  uncomfortably. 

"Did  you  know  anybody  who  was  killed,  James?" 

"Yes,  by  sight." 

She  turned  to  him: 

"Who?" 

"There  was  a  man  named  Kestner;  another  named 
Weishelm.  Three  American  gamblers  were  killed  also." 

"And  Karl  Breslau?"  inquired  the  Princess  coolly. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"No.  I  think  he  got  away  across  the  roofs  of  the 
houses,"  replied  Neeland. 

Use  Dumont,  bent  over  the  cat  in  her  lap,  stared  ab 
sently  into  its  green  eyes  where  it  lay  playfully  patting 
the  rags  that  hung  from  her  torn  bodice. 

Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  the  dead  man  where  he 
lay  in  the  crowded  cafe — the  dead  man  who  had  con 
fronted  her  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  lifted  pistol — 
whose  voice,  thick  with  rage,  had  denounced  her — whose 

405 


THE  DARK  STAR 


stammering,  untaught  tongue  stumbled  over  the  foreign 
words  with  which  he  meant  to  send  her  to  her  death — 
this  dead  man  who  once  had  been  her  man — long  ago 
—very,  very  long  ago  when  there  was  no  bitterness  in 
life,  no  pain,  no  treachery— when  life  was  young  in 
the  Western  World,  and  Fate  gaily  beckoned  her,  wear- 
ing  a  smiling  mask  and  crowned  with  flowers. 

"I  hope,"  remarked  the  Princess  Mistchenka,  "that 
it  is  sufficiently  early  in  the  morning  for  you  to  escape 
observation,  James." 

"I'm  a  scandal;  I  know  it,"  he  admitted,  as  the  car 
swung  into  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or. 

The  Princess  turned  to  the  drooping  girl  beside  her 
and  laid  a  gloved  hand  lightly  on  her  shoulder. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "there  is  only  one  chance 
for  you,  and  if  we  let  it  pass  it  will  not  come  again — 
under  military  law." 

Use  lifted  her  head,  held  it  high,  even  tilted  back  a 
little. 

The  Princess  said: 

"Twenty-four  hours  will  be  given  for  all  Germans  to 
leave  France.  But — you  took  your  nationality  from 
the  man  you  married.  You  are  American." 

The  girl  flushed  painfully: 

"I  do  not  care  to  take  shelter  under  his  name,"  she 
said. 

"It  is  the  only  way.  And  you  must  get  to  the  coast 
in  my  car.  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  Every  vehicle, 
private  and  public,  will  be  seized  for  military  uses  this 
morning.  Every  train  will  be  crowded ;  every  foot  of 
room  occupied  on  the  Channel  boats.  There  is  only 
one  thing  for  you  to  do — travel  with  me  to  Havre  as 
my  American  maid." 

"Madame — would  you  do  that — for  me?" 
406 


SUNRISE 


"Why,  I've  got  to,"  said  the  Princess  Mistchenka 
with  a  shrug.  "I  am  not  a  barbarian  to  leave  you  to  a 
firing  squad,  I  hope." 

The  car  had  stopped;  the  chauffeur  descended  and 
came  around  to  open  the  door. 

"Caron,"  said  the  Princess,  "no  servants  are  stirring 
yet.  Take  my  key,  find  a  cloak  and  bring  it  out — and 
a  coat  for  Monsieur  Neeland — the  one  that  Captain 
Sengoun  left  the  other  evening.  Have  you  plenty  of 
gasoline  ?" 

"Plenty,  madame." 

"Good.  We  leave  for  Havre  in  five  minutes.  Bring 
the  cloak  and  coat  quickly." 

The  chauffeur  hastened  to  the  door,  unlocked  it,  dis 
appeared,  then  came  out  carrying  a  voluminous  wrap 
and  a  man's  opera  cloak.  The  Princess  threw  the  one 
over  Use  Dumont;  Neeland  enveloped  himself  in  the 
other. 

"Now,"  murmured  the  Princess  Nai'a,  "it  will  look 
more  like  a  late  automobile  party  than  an  ambulance 
after  a  free  fight — if  any  early  servants  are  watch 
ing  us." 

She  descended  from  the  car;  Use  Dumont  followed, 
still  clasping  the  cat  under  her  cloak ;  and  Neeland  fol 
lowed  her. 

"Be  very  quiet,"  whispered  the  Princess.  "There  is 
no  necessity  for  servants  to  observe  what  we  do — 

A  small  and  tremulous  voice  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs  interrupted  her: 

"Naia!    Is  it  you?" 

"Hush,  Ruhannah!  Yes,  darling,  it  is  I.  Every 
thing  is  all  right  and  you  may  go  back  to  bed " 

"Naia!  Where  is  Mr.  Neeland?"  continued  the  voice, 
fearfully. 

407 


THE  DARK  STAR 


"He  is  here,  Rue !  He  is  all  right.  Go  back  to  your 
room,  dear.  I  have  a  reason  for  asking  you." 

Listening,  she  heard  a  door  close  above ;  then  she 
touched  Use  on  the  shoulder  and  motioned  her  to  follow 
up  the  stairs.  Halfway  up  the  Princess  halted,  bent 
swiftly  over  the  banisters: 

"James!"  she  called  softly. 

"Yes?" 

"Go  into  the  pantry  and  find  a  fruit  basket  and  fill 
it  with  whatever  food  you  can  find.  Hurry,  please." 

He  discovered  the  pantry  presently,  and  a  basket  of 
fruit  there.  Poking  about  he  contrived  to  disinter  from 
various  tins  and  ice-boxes  some  cold  chicken  and  bis 
cuits  and  a  bottle  of  claret.  These  he  wrapped  hastily 
in  a  napkin  which  he  found  there,  placed  them  in  the 
basket  of  fruit,  and  came  out  into  the  hall  just  as  Use 
Dumont,  in  the  collar  and  cuffs  and  travelling  coat  of 
a  servant,  descended,  carrying  a  satchel  and  a  suit-case. 

"Good  business !"  he  whispered,  delighted.  "You're 
all  right  now,  Scheherazade!  And  for  heaven's  sake, 
keep  out  of  France  hereafter.  Do  you  promise?" 

He  had  taken  the  satchel  and  bag  from  her  and 
handed  both,  and  the  fruit  basket,  to  Caron,  who  stood 
outside  the  door. 

In  the  shadowy  hall  those  two  confronted  each  other 
now,  probably  for  the  last  time.  He  took  both  her 
hands  in  his. 

"Good-bye,  Scheherazade  dear,"  he  said,  with  a 
new  seriousness  in  his  voice  which  made  the  tone  of  it 
almost  tender. 

"G-good-bye "  The  girl's  voice  choked ;  she  bent 

her  head  and  rested  her  face  on  the  hands  he  held 
clasped  in  his. 

He  felt  her  hot  tears  falling,  felt  the  slender  fingers 
408 


SUNRISE 


within  his  own  tighten  convulsively ;  felt  her  lips  against 
his  hand — an  instant  only ;  then  she  turned  and  slipped 
through  the  open  door. 

A  moment  later  the  Princess  Nai'a  appeared  on  the 
stairs,  descending  lightly  and  swiftly,  her  motor  coat 
over  her  arm. 

"Jim,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "it's  the  wretched 
girl's  only  chance.  They  know  about  her ;  they're  look 
ing  for  her  now.  But  I  am  trusted  by  my  Ambassador ; 
1  shall  have  what  papers  I  ask  for;  I  shall  get  her 
through  to  an  American  steamer." 

"Princess  Nai'a,  you  are  splendid !" 

"You  don't  think  so,  Jim;  you  never  did.  ...  Be 
nice  to  Rue.  The  child  has  been  dreadfully  frightened 
about  you.  .  .  .  And,"  added  the  Princess  Mistchenka 
with  a  gaily  forced  smile,  resting  her  hand  on  Nee- 
land's  shoulder  for  an  instant,  "don't  ever  kiss  Rue 
Carew  unless  you  mean  it  with  every  atom  of  your 
heart  and  soul.  ...  I  know  the  child.  .  .  .  And  I 
know  you.  Be  generous  to  her,  James.  All  women 
need  it,  I  think,  from  such  men  as  you — such  men  as 
you,"  she  added  laughingly,  "who  know  not  what 
they  do." 

If  there  was  a  subtle  constraint  in  her  pretty  laugh 
ter,  if  her  gay  gesture  lacked  spontaneity,  he  did  not 
perceive  it.  His  face  had  flushed  a  trifle  under  her 
sudden  badinage. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.  "You  are  splendid,  and  I  do 
think  so.  I  know  you'll  win  through." 

"I  shall.  I  always  do — except  with  you,"  she  added 
audaciously.  And  "Look  for  me  tomorrow!"  she 
called  back  to  him  through  the  open  door ;  and  slammed 
it  behind  her,  leaving  him  standing  there  alone  in  the 
dark  and  curtained  house. 

409 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  FIRST  DAY 

NEELAND  had  undressed,  bathed  his  somewhat  bat 
tered  body,  and  had  then  thrown  himself  on  the  bed, 
fully  intending  to  rise  in  a  few  moments  and  await 
breakfast. 

But  it  was  a  very  weary  young  man  who  stretched 
himself  out  for  ten  minutes'  repose.  And,  when  again 
he  unclosed  his  eyes,  the  austere  clock  on  the  mantel 
informed  him  that  it  was  five — not  five  in  the  morning 
either. 

He  had  slept  through  the  first  day  of  general  mobili 
sation. 

Across  the  lowered  latticed  blinds  late  afternoon  sun 
shine  struck  red.  The  crests  of  the  chestnut  trees  in 
the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  had  turned  rosy;  and  a  delicate 
mauve  sky,  so  characteristic  of  Paris  in  early  autumn, 
already  stretched  above  the  city  like  a  frail  tent  of  silk 
from  which  fragile  cobweb  clouds  hung,  tinted  with 
saffron  and  palest  rose. 

Hoisting  the  latteen  shades,  he  looked  out  through 
lace  curtains  into  the  most  silent  city  he  had  ever  be 
held.  Not  that  the  streets  and  avenues  were  deserted : 
they  swarmed  with  hurrying,  silent  people  and  with 
taxicabs. 

Never  had  he  seen  so  many  taxicabs;  they  streamed 
by  everywhere,  rushing  at  high  speed.  They  passed 
through  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or;  the  rue  de  la  Lune  fairly 

410 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


whizzed  with  them ;  the  splendid  avenue  was  merely  a 
vista  of  flying  taxis ;  and  in  every  one  of  them  there 
was  a  soldier. 

Otherwise,  except  for  cyclists,  there  seemed  to  be  very 
few  soldiers  in  Paris — an  odd  fact  immediately  notice 
able. 

Also  there  were  no  omnibuses  to  be  seen,  no  private 
automobiles,  no  electric  vehicles  of  any  sort  except 
great  grey  army  trucks  trundling  by  with  a  sapper  at 
the  wheel. 

And,  except  for  the  whiz  and  rush  of  the  motors  and 
the  melancholy  siren  blasts  from  their  horns,  an  im 
mense  silence  reigned  in  the  streets. 

There  was  no  laughter  to  be  heard,  no  loud  calling, 
no  gay  and  animated  badinage.  People  who  met  and 
stopped  conversed  in  undertones ;  gestures  were  sober 
and  rare. 

And  everywhere,  in  the  intense  stillness,  Red  Cross 
flags  hung  motionless  in  the  late  afternoon  sunshine; 
everywhere  were  posted  notices  warning  the  Republic  of 
general  mobilisation — on  dead  walls,  on  tree-boxes,  on 
kiosques,  on  bulletin  boards,  on  the  fa9ades  of  public 
and  ecclesiastical  buildings. 

Another  ordinance  which  Neeland  could  read  from 
where  he  stood  at  the  window  warned  all  citizens  from 
the  streets  after  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening;  and  on 
the  closed  iron  shutters  of  every  shop  in  sight  of  his 
window  were  pasted  white  strips  of  paper  bearing,  in 
black  letters,  the  same  explanation : 

"Ferme  a  cause  de  la  mobilisation." 

Nowhere  could  he  see  the  word  "war"  printed  or 
otherwise  displayed.  The  conspiracy  of  silence  con 
cerning  it  seemed  the  more  ominous. 

Nor,  listening,  could  he  hear  the  sinister  voices  of 


THE  DARK  STAR 


men  and  boys  calling  extra  editions  of  the  papers. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  need  for  the  raising  of  hoarse 
and  threatening  voices  in  the  soundless  capital.  Men 
and  youths  of  all  ages  traversed  the  avenues  and  streets 
with  sheafs  of  fresh,  damp  newspapers  over  their  ragged 
arms,  but  it  was  the  populace  who  crowded  after  and 
importuned  them,  not  they  the  people ;  and  no  sooner 
did  a  paper-seller  appear  than  he  was  stripped  of  his 
wares  and  was  counting  his  coppers  under  the  trees 
before  hurrying  away  for  a  fresh  supply. 

Neeland  dressed  himself  in  sections,  always  returning 
to  the  window  to  look  out ;  and  in  this  manner  he 
achieved  his  toilet. 

Marotte,  the  old  butler,  was  on  the  floor  below,  carry 
ing  a  tea  tray  into  the  wide,  sunny  sitting-room  as 
Neeland  descended. 

"I  overslept,"  explained  the  young  American,  "and 
I'm  nearly  starved.  Is  Mademoiselle  Carew  having 
tea?" 

"Mademoiselle  requested  tea  for  two,  sir,  in  case  you 
should  awake,"  said  the  old  man  solemnly. 

Neeland  watched  him  fussing  about  with  cloth  and 
table  and  silver. 

"Have  you  any  news?"  he  asked  after  a  moment. 

"Very  little,  Monsieur  Neeland.  The  police  have 
ordered  all  Germans  into  detention  camps — men, 
women,  and  children.  It  is  said  that  there  are  to  be 
twelve  great  camps  for  these  unfortunates  who  are  to 
assemble  in  the  Lycee  Condorcet  for  immediate  trans 
portation." 

Neeland  thought  of  Use  Dumont.  Presently  he  asked 
whether  any  message  had  been  received  from  the 
Princess  Mistchenka. 

"Madame   the   Princess   telephoned   from   Havre   at 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


four  o'clock  this  afternoon.     Mademoiselle  Carew  has 
the  message." 

Neeland,  reassured,  nodded : 

"No  other  news,  Marotte?" 

"The  military  have  taken  our  automobiles  from  the 
garage,  and  have  requisitioned  the  car  which  Madame  la 
Princess  is  now  using,  ordering  us  to  place  it  at  their 
disposal  as  soon  as  it  returns  from  Havre.  Also,  Mon 
sieur  le  Capitaine  Sengoun  has  telephoned  from  the 
Russian  Embassy,  but  Mademoiselle  Carew  would  not 
permit  Monsieur  to  be  awakened." 

"What  did  Captain   Sengoun  say?" 

"Mademoiselle  Carew  received  the  message." 

"And  did  anyone  else  call  me  up?"  asked  Neeland, 
smiling. 

"II  y  avait  wne  fe — une  espece  de  dame,"  replied  the 
old  man  doubtfully,  " — who  named  herself  Fifi  la  Tzi 
gane.  I  permitted  myself  to  observe  to  her,"  added  the 
butler  with  dignity,  "that  she  had  the  liberty  of  writ 
ing  to  you  what  she  thought  necessary  to  communi 
cate." 

He  had  arranged  the  tea-table.  Now  he  retired,  but 
returned  almost  immediately  to  decorate  the  table  with 
Cloth  of  Gold  roses. 

Fussing  and  pottering  about  until  the  mass  of 
lovely  blossoms  suited  him,  he  finally  presented  himself 
to  Neeland  for  further  orders,  and,  learning  that  there 
were  none,  started  to  retire  with  a  self-respecting  dig 
nity  that  was  not  at  all  impaired  by  the  tears  which 
kept  welling  up  in  his  aged  eyes,  and  which  he  always 
winked  away  with  a  demi-tour  and  a  discreet  cough  cor 
rectly  stifled  by  his  dry  and  wrinkled  hand. 

As  he  passed  out  the  door  Neeland  said: 

"Are  you  in  trouble,  Marotte?" 
413 


THE  DARK  STAR 


The  old  man  straightened  up,  and  a  fierce  pride 
blazed  for  a  moment  from  his  faded  eyes : 

"Not  trouble,  monsieur;  but — when  one  has  three 
sons  departing  for  the  front — dame! — that  makes  one 
reflect  a  little " 

He  bowed  with  the  unconscious  dignity  of  a  wider 
liberty,  a  subtler  equality  which,  for  a  moment,  left 
such  as  he  indifferent  to  circumstances  of  station. 

Neeland  stepped  forward  extending  his  hand: 

"Bonne  chance!  God  be  with  France — and  with  us 
all  who  love  our  liberty.  Luck  to  your  three  sons !" 

"I  thank  monsieur —  '  He  steadied  his  voice,  bowed 
in  the  faultless  garments  which  were  his  badge  of  serv 
ice,  and  went  his  way  through  the  silence  in  the  house. 

Neeland  had  walked  to  the  long  windows  giving  on 
the  pretty  balcony  with  its  delicate,  wrought-iron  rails 
and  its  brilliant  masses  of  geraniums. 

Outside,  along  the  Avenue,  in  absolute  silence,  a  regi 
ment  of  cuirassiers  was  passing,  the  level  sun  blazing 
like  sheets  of  crimson  fire  across  their  helmets  and 
breastplates.  And  now,  listening,  the  far  clatter  of 
their  horses  came  to  his  ears  in  an  immense,  unbroken, 
rattling  resonance. 

Their  gold-fringed  standard  passed,  and  the  sunlight 
on  the  naked  sabres  ran  from  point  to  hilt  like  liquid 
blood.  Sons  of  the  Cuirassiers  of  Morsbronn,  grand 
sons  of  the  Cuirassiers  of  Waterloo — what  was  their 
magnificent  fate  to  be? — For  splendid  it  could  not  fail 
to  be,  whether  tragic  or  fortunate. 

The  American's  heart  began  to  hammer  in  his  breast 
and  throb  in  his  throat,  closing  it  with  a  sudden  spasm 
that  seemed  to  confuse  his  vision  for  a  moment  and  turn 
the  distant  passing  regiment  to  a  glittering  stream  of 
steel  and  flame. 

414 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


Then  it  had  passed;  the  darkly  speeding  torrent  of 
motor  cars  alone  possessed  the  Avenue ;  and  Neeland 
turned  away  into  the  room  again. 

And  there,  before  him,  stood  Rue  Carew. 

A  confused  sense  of  unreasoning,  immeasurable  hap 
piness  rushed  over  him,  and,  in  that  sudden,  astound 
ing  instant  of  self-revelation,  self-amazement  left  him 
dumb. 

She  had  given  him  both  her  slim  white  hands,  and  he 
held  to  them  as  though  to  find  his  bearings.  Both  were 
a  trifle  irrelevant  and  fragmentary. 

"Do  you  c-care  for  tea,  Jim?  .  .  .  What  a  night! 
What  a  fright  you  gave  us.  ...  There  are  croissants, 
too,  and  caviar.  ...  I  would  not  permit  anybody  to 
awaken  you;  and  I  was  dying  to  see  you — — " 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  were  anxious  about  me.  And  I'm 
tremendously  hungry.  .  .  .  You  see,  Sengoun  and  I 
did  not  mean  to  remain  out  all  night.  .  .  .  I'll  help  you 
with  that  tea;  shall  I?  .  .  ." 

He  still  retained  her  hands  in  his;  she  smiled  and 
flushed  in  a  breathless  sort  of  way,  and  looked  some 
times  at  the  tea-kettle  as  though  she  never  before  had 
seen  such  an  object;  and  looked  up  at  him  as  though 
she  had  never  until  that  moment  beheld  any  man  like 
him. 

"The  Princess  Nai'a  has  left  us  quite  alone,"  she  said, 
"so  I  must  give  you  some  tea."  She  was  nervous  and 
smiling  and  a  little  frightened  and  confused  with  the 
sense  of  their  contact. 

"So — I  shall  give  you  your  tea,  now,"  she  repeated. 

She  did  not  mention  her  manual  inability  to  perform 

her  promise,  but  presently  it  occurred  to  him  to  release 

her  hands,  and  she  slid  gracefully  into  her  chair  and 

took  hold  of  the  silver  kettle  with  fingers  that  trembled. 

415 


THE  DARK  STAR 


He  ate  everything  offered  him,  and  then  took  the 
initiative.  And  he  talked — Oh,  heaven !  How  he  talked ! 
Everything  that  had  happened  to  him  and  to  Sengoun 
from  the  moment  they  left  the  rue  Soleil  d'Or  the  night 
before,  this  garrulous  young  man  detailed  with  a  relish 
for  humorous  circumstance  and  a  disregard  for  any 
thing  approaching  the  tragic,  which  left  her  with  an 
impression  that  it  had  all  been  a  tremendous  lark — 
indiscreet,  certainly,  and  probably  reprehensible — but 
a  lark,  for  all  that. 

Fireworks,  shooting,  noise,  and  architectural  destruc 
tion  he  admitted,  but  casualties  he  skimmed  over,  and 
of  death  he  never  said  a  word.  Why  should  he?  The 
dead  were  dead.  None  concerned  this  young  girl  now 
— and,  save  one,  no  death  that  any  man  had  died  there 
in  the  shambles  of  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars  could  ever  mean 
anything  to  Rue  Carew. 

Some  day,  perhaps,  he  might  tell  her  that  Brandes 
was  dead — not  where  or  how  he  had  died — but  merely 
the  dry  detail.  And  she  might  docket  it,  if  she  cared 
to,  and  lay  it  away  among  the  old,  scarcely  remembered, 
painful  things  that  had  been  lived,  and  now  were  to  be 
forgotten  forever. 

The  silence  of  intensest  interest,  shy  or  excited  ques 
tions,  and  the  grey  eyes  never  leaving  his — this  was  her 
tribute. 

Grey  eyes  tinged  with  golden  lights,  now  clear  with 
suspense,  now  brilliant  at  a  crisis,  now  gentle,  wonder 
ing,  troubled,  as  he  spoke  of  Use  Dumont  and  the  Rus 
sian  girl,  now  charmingly  vague  as  her  mind  outstripped 
his  tongue  and  she  divined  something  of  the  sturdy  part 
he  had  played — golden-grey  eyes  that  grew  exquisite 
with  her  pride  in  him,  tender  with  solicitude  for  him 
in  dangers  already  passed  away — this  was  her  tribute 

416 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


Engaging  grey  eyes  of  a  girl  with  the  splendour  and 
mystery  of  womanhood  possessing  her — attracting  him, 
too,  fascinating  him,  threatening,  conquering,  possess 
ing  him — this,  the  Greek  gift  of  Rue  Carew,  her  tribute. 

And  he  took  all,  forgetting  that  the  Greeks  bore 
gifts;  or,  perhaps,  remembering,  rejoicing,  happy  in 
his  servitude,  he  took  into  his  heart  and  soul  the  trib 
ute  this  young  girl  offered,  a  grateful,  thankful  cap 
tive. 

The  terrible  cataclysm  impending,  menacing  the 
world,  they  seemed  powerless,  yet,  to  grasp  and  com 
prehend  and  understand. 

Outside,  the  street  rippled  and  roared  with  the  in 
terminable  clatter  of  passing  cavalry:  the  girl  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  the  boy  across  the  tea-table,  and  her 
young  eyes,  half  fearful  yet  enchanted,  scarce  dared 
divine  what  his  eyes  were  telling  her  while  his  hurrying 
tongue  chattered  irrelevancies. 

Three  empires,  two  kingdoms,  and  a  great  republic 
resounded  with  the  hellish  din  of  arming  twenty  million 
men.  Her  soft  lips  were  touched  with  the  smile  of  youth 
that  learns  for  the  first  time  it  is  beloved ;  her  eyes  of 
a  child,  exquisite,  brooding,  rested  with  a  little  more 
courage  now  on  his — were  learning,  little  by  little,  to 
sustain  his  gaze,  endure  the  ardour  that  no  careless, 
laughing  speech  of  his  could  hide  or  dim  or  quench. 

In  the  twilight  of  the  streets  there  was  silence,  save 
for  the  rush  of  motors  and  the  recurrent  trample  of 
armed  men.  But  the  heart  of  Rue  Carew  was  afire  with 
song — and  every  delicate  vein  in  her  ran  singing  to  her 
heart. 

There  was  war  in  the  Eastern  world;  and  palace 
and  chancellery  were  ablaze.  But  they  spoke  of  the 
West — of  humble  places  and  lowly  homes  ;  of  still  wood- 

417 


THE  DARK  STAR 


lands  where  mosses  edged  the  brooks ;  of  peaceful  vil 
lages  they  both  had  known,  where  long,  tree-shaded 
streets  slept  in  the  dappled  shadow  under  the  sun  of 
noon. 

Marotte  came,  silent,  self-respecting,  very  grey  and 
tranquil  in  his  hour  of  trial. 

There  were  two  letters  for  Neeland,  left  by  hand. 
And,  when  the  old  man  had  gone  away  bearing  his  silver 
tray  among  his  heavier  burdens : 

"Read  them,"  nodded  Rue  Carew. 

He  read  them  both  aloud  to  her:  the  first  amused 
them  a  little — not  without  troubling  them  a  little,  too : 

MONSIEUR  NEELAND: 

It  is  the  Tzigane,  Fifi,  who  permits  herself  the  honour 
of  addressing  you. 

Breslau  escaped.  With  him  went  the  plans,  it  seems. 
You  behaved  admirably  in  the  Cafe  des  Bulgars.  A  Rus 
sian  comrade  has  you  and  Prince  Erlik  to  remember  in 
her  prayers. 

You  have  done  well,  monsieur.  Now,  your  task  is  ended. 
Go  back  to  the  Western  World  and  leave  us  to  end  this 
battle  between  ourselves. 

It  is  written  and  confirmed  by  the  stars  that  what  the 
Eastern  World  has  sown  it  shall  now  reap  all  alone. 

We  Tziganes  know.  You  should  not  mock  at  our  knowl 
edge.  For  there  is  a  dark  star,  Erlik,  named  from  the 
Prince  of  Hell.  And  last  night  it  was  in  conjunction 
with  the  red  star,  Mars.  None  saw  it;  none  has  ever  be 
held  the  dark  star,  Erlik. 

But  we  Tziganes  know.  We  have  known  for  five  thou 
sand  years  that  Erlik  hung  aloft,  followed  by  ten  black 
moons.  Ask  your  astronomers.  But  we  Tziganes  knew 
this  before  there  ever  were  astronomers ! 

Therefore,  go  home  to  your  own  land,  monsieur.  The 
Prince  of  Hell  is  in  the  heavens.  The  Yellow  Devil  shall 
see  the  Golden  Horn  again.  Empires  shall  totter  and  fall. 
Little  American,  stand  from  under. 

418 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


Adieu !  We  Tziganes  wish  you  well — Fifi  and  Nini  of 
the  Jardin  Russe. 

"Adieu,  beau  jeune  homme!  And — to  her  whom  you 
shall  take  with  you — homage,  good  wishes,  good  augury, 
and  adieux !" 

"  'To  her  whom  you  shall  take  with  you,'  "  he  re 
peated,  looking  at  Rue  Carew. 

The  girl  blushed  furiously  and  bent  her  head,  and 
her  slender  fingers  grew  desperately  busy  with  her  hand 
kerchief. 

Neeland,  as  nervous  as  she,  fumbled  with  the  seal  of 
the  remaining  letter,  managed  finally  to  break  it, 
glanced  at  the  writing,  then  laughed  and  read : 

MY  DEAR  COMRADE  NEELAND: 

I  get  my  thousand  lances!  Congratulate  me!  Were 
you  much  battered  by  that  canaille  last  night?  I  laugh 
until  I  nearly  burst  when  I  think  of  that  absurd  bou- 
sculade! 

That  girl  I  took  with  me  is  all  right.  I'm  going  to 
Petrograd!  I'm  going  on  the  first  opportunity  by  way 
of  Switzerland. 

What  happiness,  Neeland!  No  more  towns  for  me,  ex 
cept  those  I  take.  No  more  politics,  no  more  diplomacy! 
I  shall  have  a  thousand  lances  to  do  my  talking  for  me. 
Hurrah! 

Neeland,  I  love  you  as  a  brother.  Come  to  the  East  with 
me.  You  shall  make  a  splendid  trooper!  Not,  of  course, 
a  Terek  Cossack.  A  Cossack  is  God's  work.  A  Terek 
Cossack  is  born,  not  made. 

But,  good  heavens!  There  is  other  most  excellent 
cavalry  in  the  world,  I  hope!  Come  with  me  to  Russia. 
Say  that  you  will  come,  my  dear  comrade  Neeland,  and 
I  promise  you  we  shall  amuse  ourselves  when  the  world's 
dance  begins 

"Oh !"  breathed  the  girl,  exasperated.  "Sengoun  is 
a  fool!" 

419 


THE  DARK  STAR 


Neeland  looked  up  quickly  from  his  letter;  then  his 
face  altered,  and  he  rose;  but  Rue  Carew  was  already 
on  her  feet;  and  she  had  lost  most  of  her  colour — and 
her  presence  of  mind,  too,  it  seemed,  for  Neeland's  arms 
were  half  around  her,  and  her  hands  were  against  his 
shoulders. 

Neither  of  them  spoke;  and  he  was  already  amazed 
and  rather  scared  at  his  own  incredible  daring — already 
terribly  afraid  of  this  slender,  fragrant  creature  who 
stood  rigid  and  silent  within  the  circle  of  his  arm,  her 
head  lowered,  her  little,  resisting  hands  pressed  con 
vulsively  against  his  breast. 

And  after  a  long  time  the  pressure  against  his  breast 
slowly  relaxed;  her  restless  fingers  moved  nervously 
against  his  shoulders,  picked  at  the  lapels  of  his  coat, 
clung  there  as  he  drew  her  head  against  his  breast. 

The  absurd  beating  of  his  heart  choked  him  as  he 
stammered  her  name;  he  dropped  his  head  beside  her 
hot  and  half  hidden  cheek.  And,  after  a  long,  long 
time,  her  face  stirred  on  his  breast,  turned  a  very 
little  toward  him,  and  her  young  lips  melted  against 
his. 

So  they  stood  through  the  throbbing  silence  in  the 
slowly  darkening  room,  while  the  street  outside  echoed 
with  the  interminable  trample  of  pacing  cavalry,  and 
the  dim  capital  lay  like  a  phantom  city  under  the 
ghostly  lances  of  the  searchlights  as  though  probing 
all  Heaven  to  the  very  feet  of  God  in  search  of  reasons 
for  the  hellish  crime  now  launched  against  the  guiltless 
Motherland. 

And  high  among  the  planets  sped  the  dark  star,  Er- 
lik,  unseen  by  men,  rushing  through  viewless  interstellar 
space,  hurled  out  of  nothing  by  the  Prince  of  Hell  into 
the  nothing  toward  which  all  Hell  is  speeding,  too ;  and 

420 


THE  FIRST  DAY 


whither  it  shall  one  day  fade  and  disappear  and  pass 
away  forever. 

"My  darling " 

"Oh,  Jim — I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,"  she  whis 
pered.  And  her  young  arms  crept  up  and  clung  around 
his  neck. 

"My  darling  Rue — my  little  Rue  Carew — 

Outside  the  window  an  officer  also  spoke  through  the 
unbroken  clatter  of  passing  horsemen  which  filled  the 
whole  house  with  a  hollow  roar.  But  she  heard  her 
lover's  voice  alone  as  in  a  hushed  and  magic  world ;  and 
in  her  girl's  enchanted  ears  his  words  were  the  only 
sounds  that  stirred  a  heavenly  quiet  that  reigned  be 
tween  the  earth  and  stars. 

(1) 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPARTMENT 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

;.;72  7 


-9 


LD  21-40m-2,'69 
(J6057slO)476— A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


